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Harry watched Sirius leaning back in his chair at the far end of the kitchen table. Remus said something Harry couldn't make out, and Sirius laughed, the sound rich and warm.
He had no idea what was wrong with him, but he couldn't stop watching Sirius and it made him feel all tingly inside. He was old enough to know that he was getting turned on, but this overwhelming arousal was so much different than what he'd ever felt for Cho.
With her, he had the vague desire to kiss her or stroke her hair. Sirius, on the other hand… Harry shivered.
He bit the inside of his cheek as he watched Sirius pull a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and light one with the tip of his wand. Sirius inhaled deeply then blew a stream of smoke out through his nose.
Harry had to turn away when he realised he was imagining Sirius's mouth on something else entirely.
"I'm for bed," he said, standing, thankful for the fact that he was still wearing his robes.
"Isn't it a bit early?" Sirius asked, taking another drag off the cigarette. Harry's cock throbbed.
"Really tired tonight," he replied, eager to get away. "Night, Sirius. Remus."
"Good night, Harry," Remus said.
"Night," Sirius said and put his feet up on the table. Harry looked at the worn leather boots, the dark trousers peeking out from beneath the end of his robes, and ran.
Shutting his bedroom door behind him as quick as he could, Harry shoved his hand into his pants and wrapped his fingers around his aching cock.
"Fuck," he whispered, sure he'd never been so hard in his life. He stood panting, unable to move for a moment, then shoved his pants down to his knees and pulled himself off in four strokes.
He cringed at the sticky mess he'd left on the floor and reached for his wand to clean up.
He couldn't imagine how he'd survive another week before going back to Hogwarts. He definitely needed to find some lotion or he'd rub his cock raw.
~*~
Two days later, Sirius showed him Regulus's bedroom, with a sort of melancholy mood descending over Sirius. Harry gave him a hug, but the smoky scent of him went straight to Harry's groin and he had to pull away. If Sirius noticed anything was amiss, he didn't act like it.
"Molly doesn't think I should smoke around you," Sirius said putting a fag between his lips. "Thinks I'm a bad influence."
"Far sight better than the Dursleys," Harry replied. Sirius smiled, winked, and then lit the cigarette.
Harry wanted to ask if he could try one, not that he'd ever really wanted to smoke before. Some of Dudley's gang had bragged about how cool it was, and that had put Harry straight off. Something about Sirius, though, made him want to try it. And more.
He watched Sirius's lips, pursed around the end, and the way he held the cigarette between his index and middle fingers so elegantly. Would they be so gentle on his skin, or would the rougher side of Sirius come through? Would he pinch and pull Harry's soft flesh?
"All right?" Sirius said and Harry shook his head to clear it.
"Sorry, got a bit distracted." Harry couldn't meet his eye. Not that he believed he'd use Legilimency like Snape, but he wasn't going to risk it.
Sirius wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulder and led him out of the room. "Let's get old Kreacher to make us some pudding, hmm?"
~*~
After supper and two slices of treacle tart, Harry saw his chance to nick one of Sirius's cigarettes. He'd left the pack on the table when he went up to the attic to take Buckbeak some raw stew meat. Harry slipped one from the pack and dropped it into the pocket of his robes.
Harry wasn't going to smoke it, no, but all he could think about was wanking with it in his mouth, imagining Sirius's lips sucking on it. On him.
He pressed the heel of his palm to his cock and sucked in a breath. He'd no idea that being fifteen meant he'd be hard all the damn time. He climbed the stairs to his room and bumped into Sirius on the landing.
"Off to bed already?" Sirius asked, a note of disappointment in his voice.
"I… haven't been sleeping very well lately." It was true, of course, but it was not why Harry needed to make his escape.
"Is it Voldemort?" Sirius's voice dropped to a whisper and he looked concerned.
Harry rubbed his forehead automatically but shook his head. "No, not this time."
"All right then." Sirius clapped him on the shoulder. "Go get some rest then."
Harry could feel Sirius's eyes on his back as he climbed the next set of stairs.
~*~
Harry pushed his pants, as well as the sheets, down to his ankles and lay back on the bed, his t-shirt riding halfway up his chest. He reached for the two things he'd used every night for the last three days: hand lotion and Sirius's cigarette.
He put the cigarette to his lips, just holding it between them, inhaling the sweet scent of the tobacco. He then poured a dollop of lotion into his palm and smoothed it up his cock. He sighed softly, making sure not to let the cigarette fall, the lotion cool on his hot length.
Closing his eyes, Harry replayed various scenes in his mind, some real and some fantasy. He could smell Sirius's scent when he'd hugged Harry good night. Harry imagined what it would be like to rub against him, pressing his erection to Sirius's hip, Sirius palming him through his clothes, making him come.
Images flashed behind his eyes:
Sirius on his knees opening Harry's flies, taking him into his mouth and sucking him.
Harry holding a man's cock for the first time, stroking Sirius as he runs his fingers in Harry's hair, saying, "Good boy".
Sirius preparing Harry with his fingers, Harry's thighs splayed, Sirius stroking his cock with his free hand.
Harry gagging around Sirius's length as he fucks his mouth, hands holding Harry's head so he can't pull away.
Sirius pinching, biting, sucking every inch of Harry's flesh until his body is covered in marks… each action screaming the same word: "Mine".
Harry on his hands and knees, arse in the air, Sirius pounding into him ruthlessly, fingers digging into his hips hard enough to bruise.
"Fuck," a voice said, and Harry opened his eyes. Sirius stood in the doorway, the end of his cigarette glowing orange in the dark room.
Harry was going to come, he couldn't stop himself.
He whimpered.
Sirius crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his rough hand around Harry's cock.
The cigarette dangled from Sirius's lips, the tendrils of smoke swirling into the air, the scent invading Harry's senses. The warmth of Sirius's body beside him sent Harry over the edge, coming helplessly all over Sirius's hand.
He closed his eyes then, face hot with embarrassment… until he felt a lick to his stomach and watched as Sirius cleaned the come from his belly.
"Oh my God," Harry said, barely above a whisper, his youthful libido already stirring.
Sirius looked him in the eye as he took a drag off his cigarette. He exhaled slowly then leaned down and pressed his mouth to Harry's, his stubbled face rough against Harry's skin, his mouth tasting of Firewhisky, smoke, and come.
"You want more, Harry?" Sirius said softly.
Harry nodded, his legs falling open as Sirius trailed his fingers up his inner thigh.
"Good boy," Sirius said, chuckling, and took one last drag off his cigarette, putting it out under his boot.
He pulled off his shirt, yanked Harry's pants off completely and then settled between his thighs, hands kneading the muscles there. Harry could only watch, mesmerised, as Sirius leaned down and sucked his half-hard cock into his mouth. Harry gasped and arched his back, thankful Sirius had already made him come for surely he would have come again.
Sirius pressed the tip of his wand to Harry's arsehole, a cool, slickness spreading inside him. He shivered at the sensation as well as at the realisation that Sirius was really going to fuck him. Sirius continued sucking him as he pressed a single finger inside.
"Oooh," Harry said, more breath than words. He pressed against Sirius's finger, desperate for more.
He heard Sirius moan around his cock and felt a second finger slide in beside the first. He felt the burn then, but it improved as Sirius kept moving his fingers. Harry's hips were bucking of their own accord, thrusting his cock into Sirius's mouth and pushing back onto his fingers rhythmically.
Sirius released Harry's cock and began stroking it with his free hand as he pushed a third finger in.
"I need—" Harry managed to get out, he didn't know how. "Please."
"You want me to fuck you, Harry?" Sirius asked, his fingernail just lingering at Harry's slit.
"God, yes." Harry was overwhelmed, his body both hot and cold, his fingers clenching in the sheets, and he hadn't even seen Sirius's cock yet.
Sirius gently pulled his fingers from Harry's arse and wiped them on the sheets before pulling open his flies and shoving his trousers and pants down to his knees. Harry's eyes widened as he saw Sirius's thick cock pointing at him like a divining rod.
Sirius was already spreading lube over his length when he said, "Hook your hands behind your knees." Harry reached down and pulled his knees back, embarrassed to be displayed so openly.
"Oh, fuck, Harry," Sirius said as he took his cock in hand and leaned over Harry, pressing the tip to his hole. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this."
Harry held his legs up and tried to breathe as he felt Sirius push inside him, inch by inch. His cock was so much bigger than his fingers, so much better. Harry was panting by the time Sirius was fully seated, his balls resting against Harry's arse. He reached up and ran his hand over Harry's cheek.
Then he pulled nearly the whole way out and thrust back in hard.
"Yessss," Sirius hissed, building a rhythm as he fucked Harry. "Such a beautiful boy."
Harry could do nothing, wanted to do nothing but let Sirius use him. Sirius's hair hung down, swinging into his face as he thrust. The bedsprings creaked and Sirius shifted his angle and Harry cried out, white spots floating before his eyes.
Sirius chuckled darkly, and slammed into Harry's arse again and again. Harry was going to come again, soon, without being touched. His balls ached, every muscle in his body taut as he shrieked and came.
He heard Sirius groan as if from far away, knew he sped his pace even more, but Harry felt as if he was floating away.
A growl and then Sirius stilled for one moment before pumping his come deep inside Harry's arse. Harry could feel it spilling out as Sirius thrust lazily inside him until his cock softened and he slipped out completely.
Sirius sat back and tucked himself back into his pants, then Summoned his pack of cigarettes. Harry watched as he put one to his lips and lit it with the tip of his wand. He inhaled deeply, then held it out in offering.
Harry took it and pressed it to his lips and breathed.
|
⏳NOVEMBER 15, 2016 ⌛ ️
The sky was already turning when you glanced outside the window. God, how much time had passed? It hadn’t been much later than 4 o’clock when you walked through the door to Jaehee’s café, but since neither you or your husband were in much of a hurry, you two had stayed far, far longer than anticipated.
It’d been a nice change of pace, though. Considering how chaotic life had been in this timeline, you enjoyed being able to sit around and share in the infectious nostalgia that came with being in the same room as so many of the RFA. Come to think of it, it’d been ages since everyone had gotten together. When was the last time? Jumin’s birthday? No, that’s not right. It must have been your wedding day, at least, since V’s still nowhere to be found.
Your eyes lingered over your phone, pondering the possibility of calling the others over here. V couldn’t be helped, but… No, no. You shook your head and disregarded the notion. If your relationship with Saeyoung, such as it was, wasn’t irreversibly ruined at this point you’d be surprised, but that’s to say nothing of—
"Oh my god! Zen!"
Your attention was promptly redirected towards Jaehee, who you noticed was standing behind the counter and staring at her cellphone, utterly aghast. Jumin and Yoosung appeared mutually perplexed, sharing a troubled look before likewise turning to Jaehee—curious, concerned, awaiting context.
Not you, though. You recognized this face.
“…He’s says he’s been injured,” she continued, lowering her voice after noticing everyone’s — including some customers — collective staring.
“Again?” Jumin muttered, barely audible. “One would expect a stage performer to be less accident prone.”
You gave your husband a sharp look, though admittedly you were forcing down an involuntary chuckle. Zen and his breadth of quasi-supernatural abilities were completely inexplicable and confounding to you, yet, despite this, his proverbial kryptonite seemed to be his own feet of all things. Surely, you thought, finding amusement in this fact did not inherently make you an asshole. There were plenty of other completely legitimate reasons to consider yourself an asshole, after all.
“Is he okay?” Yoosung asked, his brow arching upwards.
Jaehee paced slightly from behind the counter. “I don’t know, he— Oh! Oh, thank god,” she said, shoulders slumping. “He only sprained his ankle on set. He’s at home resting now, apparently.”
“Well,” you began, folding your arms out in front of you, “at least it’s nothing seri—”
“Oh, dear. He probably doesn’t have much food at home, does he? Being as busy as he is,” Jaehee continued, oblivious to her own interruption.
Yoosung nodded gravely. “Yeeeeeah, his fridge is basically just a beer cooler from what I remember. I’m not sure how he’s... alive? Hrmm... Maybe he eats grass.”
“Salads,” you corrected.
He hand-waved you away. “Big difference.”
Jumin straightened his back, idly tapping his fingers on the table surface. “Perhaps someone should check up on him, then. I would volunteer, but I suspect my presence will only exacerbate his injury further.”
Yoosung gave him a funny look. “What, you’re going to break his leg just by being near him?”
“Not intentionally, no,” he clarified. “He will simply falsely interpret a benign action on my part and over exert himself in the process of seeking retribution. I don’t particularly care what he does to himself, but it’s annoying.” He doesn’t elaborate any further.
Yoosung laughed, which — from a peripheral glance — seemed to please Jumin. “Okay, then who’s going? I—” He caught Jaehee’s eye. “I-I’m working, so I can’t,” he stuttered. “And come to think of it, he probably wouldn’t want to see me anyway, so…”
You could feel the eyes of your friends shift towards you, almost expectantly. ‘Sounds like a job for the RFA’s resident social worker…’ A sigh involuntarily escaped you. “I, uh—”
“Jaehee,” Jumin interjected. “Perhaps you should go.”
Jaehee blinked at him, somewhat taken aback. “Me?”
He shrugged. “You are undoubtedly the most concerned of all of us, and happen to be quite knowledgeable on the subject of Zen’s likes and dislikes. Who better?”
You looked back towards Jumin, raising an eyebrow, but his focus was squarely on Jaehee. His expression was stoic, no different than normal. What was his gambit here?
“I— Well.” Jaehee glanced over her shoulder, directing her eye toward the doorway, but ultimately shook her head. “No, no, I mustn’t. Byeol won’t be here for another hour and we don’t close up shop until nine, and by then that would be far too late—”
“I can handle it, Miss Kang!” Yoosung piped up, brimming with confidence. “I’m sure Zen would be happy to see you.”
Jaehee gave Yoosung a small, somewhat strained smile. “That’s… kind of you, Yoosung, but you’ve only been working here for two weeks. It’s not that I doubt you, but—”
“I’ll assist.”
The speed in which you, Yoosung, and Jaehee collectively spun your heads toward Jumin bordered on comical.
“You’ll… assist?” you asked, incredulous, half expecting him to tell you all that he’s joking. “With… with what, exactly?”
Jumin regarded you, and your profound skepticism, with a scoff of indignation. “My darling wife, I have closed countless business deals and increased the productivity, proficiency, and profitability of C&R by rates exceeding 100% over the better portion of five years.” He proceeded to stand and unbutton his jacket. “I’ll admit that I’ve never had a ‘retail’ job, but how hard could it be?”
Yoosung looked at Jumin almost pityingly. “Uhm, Jumin, I don’t thi—”
“Yoosung,” Jaehee interjected, her voice and expression flat. “Our security cameras are working, aren’t they?”
Yoosung stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowed, then nodded slowly. “Y-Yeah? I think so?”
Something akin to malevolent joy crossed Jaehee’s face, albeit only for a moment. “Perfect,” she said. “Mr. Han, you’re hired.”
You felt like the room was spinning. What the hell was going on?
“Excellent, I imagine this will be fun,” Jumin said, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Dear, do you suppose you’d mind accompanying her?” he continued, lowering his voice so that his words only reached you. Not that it would matter; Jaehee is too preoccupied with both instructing and unsubtly inferring to Yoosung her motivations for this change of events. “I expect she’ll be less likely to reconsider this provided she’s not visiting Zen alone.”
You balked at him.
“Well?”
With steady hesitation, you removed yourself from your seat and walked over to your husband, pulling him somewhat further out of earshot. “…Jumin, what are you doing?”
He smirked briefly, conspiratorially, then leaned over to whisper in your ear. “If not for Jaehee’s interference in my personal circumstances, you and I… wouldn’t be what we are now.” He paused. “I suppose I’m merely returning the favour.”
You stood back a moment, examining his face. The corner of your mouth quirked up into a smile. “Sweetie, I don’t think Jaehee—”
He waved you off. “Perhaps, perhaps not. Her fixation may be beyond my comprehension, but nevertheless,” he cleared his throat, “there should be a chaperon.”
You laughed. “Jaehee is a blackbelt, you know.”
“Oh, I know, but… still. I trust you.”
Your heart thrummed in your chest, and for a moment you allowed yourself to believe that you deserved his trust. “Alright, then.” You leaned over to quickly kiss his cheek. “Have fun at work, honey,” you teased.
His hand drifted to the back of your head, coaxing you forwards until he returned the kiss to the top of your hair. “Have a safe trip, my love,” he murmured, his other hand finding your own and giving it a gentle squeeze. Despite himself, he was trembling.
It’d be a little under five minutes before Zen’s apartment pulled into view, you figured. He hadn’t responded to any of the texts left in the messenger app when you both left, so as far as either of you were aware, Zen had no idea you two were stopping by. Anxiously, you decided to check your phone again. Nope. Nothing.
Ugh.
To be honest, you weren’t sure whether it was a good idea for you to come. Your relationship with Zen had always been somewhat tumultuous, even dating back to the early resets. His “jokes” about stealing you away from Yoosung struck you as distasteful, his flirtatious attempts to pry your attention away from Jaehee was aggravating, and, well… you weren’t exactly fond of the way he treated Jumin, ever, but especially so in this timeline. After all you’ve been through, all you’ve done to get back here again, you had entirely, unequivocally lost your patience with Zen and his insatiable desire to “protect” you from your goddamn fiancé.
That isn’t to say you were entirely blameless, though. The whole RFA was concerned — rather understandably so, in hindsight — when you and Jumin announced your intentions to marry… exactly one week following your engagement at the party. From an outsider’s perspective, it looked batshit insane. Frankly? Jumin was batshit insane for agreeing to it. At least you had known him for the better part of a year at that point — but, naturally, none of them knew this, least of all Zen.
“Are the rest of you hearing this? Am I the only sane one here? Guys, we can’t let them do this. They’ll regret it for the rest of their lives if they’re not divorced in three months!”
His objections were loud. Boisterous.
“Proposing to her after, what? Five days together? Four? That’s bad enough, but marrying a week after?! Are you serious?!”
Despite the fact it was very much your idea, that all seemed to fall on deaf ears. As far as Zen was concerned, Jumin must have been coercing this — and that was it.
“I don’t know what the two of you are thinking, especially YOU, Mr. I’m-Not-My-Father, but the only kind of people who get married after a week and half are either running away from something or afraid it won’t last!”
The straw that broke the camel’s back.
“Zen, I swear to GOD, if you so much as scowl at my fiancé on our wedding day, I'll charge down the aisle myself and throw you out of the church by the fringe of that rat-tail you call hair. I don’t care what you think of us, I’ve NEVER cared what you think of us, so how about you mind your business for once in your goddamn life and be grateful that we’ve invited you at all!”
You hadn’t really meant to get that aggressive with him, but you just couldn’t listen to it anymore. Where the hell does he get off saying that kind of shit, anyway? Spending the whole week breathing down Jumin’s neck over the tiniest thing he did, triple-guessing your own decisions, full out accusing Jumin of criminal acts, needlessly, falsely psychoanalyzing— You just! Had it!!
“Is… something wrong?”
You jumped at Jaehee’s interjection of your thoughts. “What? No— Why?” you said, realizing too late that your reply was perhaps a little too quick to be convincing.
She glanced at you from the corner of her eye, her lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re as bad as Elizabeth, leaving claw marks in my polyester.” She gestured her head towards your hands.
“Oh.” You unclenched your fingers from the armrests. “Sorry.”
Jaehee looked at you again briefly, then turned into Zen’s neighbourhood. “Nearly there.”
…If you had been a better person, you would have felt embarrassed, apologized, and tried to smooth things over with Zen. You knew Zen and Jumin were capable of getting along, too, but you were too stubborn to try and make that happen. Not when it would’ve mattered, anyway.
“…Zen. What happened to your hair?”
He’d cut it. He wore it short, immortalized forever in your wedding pictures. Saeyoung thought that was hilarious. That little jab got to him, huh? Such a tiny slight convinced him to change the hairstyle he’d worn ever since he ran away from home.
“Mom always said long hair looked ugly on boys, anyway.”
Of course, Saeyoung never knew how Zen felt about his hair — nor Jumin, who still jokes about this incident with you from time to time. Only you, connoisseur of broken hearts, are privy to the knowledge Zen shared with you in times long erased and forgotten. Even he wouldn’t know now, and that’s a very, very convenient thing, isn’t it? Otherwise Zen may not have so easily forgiven you for “unwittingly” using his insecurities against him in a moment of frustration.
God. How fucking jaded are you to all this?
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Jaehee said, breaking the silence again as she pulled into Zen’s driveway, “are you and Zen… on decent terms these days? You haven’t said much since we left.”
You turned to find Jaehee looking at you from the driver’s seat, her hand hovering on the ignition of her car. Damn. Guess your reluctance was weighing on your face more than you realized.
“That… depends,” you replied. “How do you define ‘decent’?”
She gave you a withering look.
You sighed. “Well. He and I get along better than he gets along with my husband, but… I’m not sure if he’s ever fully accepted that I chose Jumin of my own volition.” Without quite intending to, you grimaced. “Things are just a bit… awkward, I guess? It’s fine. We’re fine. Let’s just go.”
Her eyes were strained and skeptical, but with a sigh she relented and turned off the vehicle. “Very well.”
Zen’s apartment was odd, to say the least. ‘A dingy little basement-level apartment with no security to speak of,’ as Jumin once called it. He’d offered to supply Zen with some, once, but to no one’s surprise, he had refused. Zen’s fans were respectful of his privacy, apparently, which made the already quiet neighbourhood especially barren tonight, what with the clouds rolling in overhead. Perhaps a storm was coming.
Jaehee approached the door to the apartment building and dialed for Zen’s room on the call box. “Zen? It’s Jaehee. Are you in?”
There was a stretch of silence, but before too long Zen’s voice, distant and tired-sounding, came through the old, worn-down speaker. “…Jaehee…?” he trailed off, pausing again for a moment, “Oh. Oh, right.” The door unlatched. “Go ahead.”
You and Jaehee shared a puzzled look before she tentatively reached for the door and let the both of you in. Zen’s apartment wasn’t too far off—just a little ways down the hall—so by the time the two of you reached it, you didn’t have to wait long before Zen had opened the entrance to his room.
Jaehee’s face noticeably fell when Zen revealed himself, and you found yourself suppressing a gasp. You had expected him to be somewhat out of sorts—he’d injured himself, after all—but there was no way else to put it: He looked, for once, genuinely bad. His hair, now mid-length around all sides, was loose and dishevelled in an unkempt way, and the circles around his eyes were dark enough to rival Saeyoung’s. The white tank-top he was wearing clung to his sweat-beaded skin, and there was, of course, a cast around his leg and ankle — which, perhaps most shockingly, was just barely visible beneath his sweatpants.
“Oh my god, Zen— are you sick? Why didn’t you say so in the messenger?” Jaehee impulsively reached toward him, but stopped just shy of touching. “If I had known, we—”
The ‘we’ seemed to catch Zen’s attention. His listless gaze snapped at once in your direction, as though he was just noticing your presence. “What are you doing here?”
You stepped back, suddenly feeling rather put-upon. “Uh.” His eyes bore into you further. “I said I was coming as well, Zen.”
His stare sharpened — but not in anger, you think. It almost seemed like… confusion? He looked away, his eyes darting this way and that, thinking hard, but he evidently failed to grasp whatever question he was chasing. “Okay,” he said, resigned, then glanced out into the hall. “Come in.”
Fortunately, the inside of Zen’s apartment looked no more messy than it usually was. A few beer cans left lying around, but otherwise nothing out of the ordinary. Zen, though, was evidently very off—distracted—as he brushed past the two of you, swaying in his steps, before wordlessly slumping down onto the sofa. As you approached, you noticed that he had squinted his eyes shut and was leaning his temple against his fore and middle fingers.
Jaehee watched Zen with what can only be described as baffled concern. “Zen, what happened? What’s wrong?” she asked, though you suspected it was more of a demand.
He flinched before swivelling his head back in Jaehee’s direction, a curious look about his face. “…When’d your hair get so long?”
Jaehee blinked. “I…? I’ve been growing it out ever since I left C&R, Zen. I’ve mentioned this.”
“You left?” he said.
Jaehee held your eye from across the room, her jaw slack.
Zen looked between the two of you, puzzled, then clasped his eyes shut and shook his head. “…Right, sorry. Right. It looks nice,” he added, as if a compliment would make up for his apparent lapses in recent memory.
“Zen,” you said carefully, “how did you hurt your leg today?”
He didn’t respond immediately. “Not sure,” he said. “Fainted.”
You looked him over, crossing your arms. “When was the last time you slept? Really slept?”
“Not… sure,” he said, again. “Last… last week?”
“Last week!” Jaehee all but shouted, causing Zen to flinch again at the noise. “Zen, why on earth—!”
He rubbed his forehead. “Can’t. Nightmares.”
You straightened your back. “Of what…?”
His eyes peeled open again, but he only stared blankly forward.
“Of what, Zen?”
His whole expression seemed to strain, like he was searching for something; something just out of reach. He brought both of his hands to his forehead, digging his fingers into his hair. His jaw clenched fight, mouth twisting into a grimace, until—
“Seven’s… Seven’s brother?”
|
Cullen's first instinct was to blame feeling so terribly out of sorts on his sessions with Bull, since he’d not had nearly enough to drink with Cassandra to warrant a hangover that felt like this. Besides, those sessions were the most significant thing that had changed in his life. So when he woke the morning after Summerday, he was tempted to send a messenger to Bull calling off the evening.
He sat with his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees, and had enough time to realise he was going to throw up, but not nearly enough time to get down his ladder and out of his tower fast enough. He had a bucket in the room specifically for these moments, but he felt like he’d always lost some personal battle when he had to use it.
With the taste of bile thick in his mouth, he continued to dry retch until he thought his stomach would turn inside out and fall out of his throat just as the floor seemed to slip right out from beneath him.
But his nightmares hadn’t been about Bull or the sessions. They’d been about Kinloch, and then they’d been about Samson.
It wasn’t the first time he’d had the dream and likely wouldn’t be the last, either. He’d stood upon the small jetty on the lake, his lake. The one he hadn’t seen since he’d left to become a Templar. There, he listened to the gently lapping water, watched the lily pads and the undulating rise and fall of the fog. Slowly, he realised the water was changing colour. Instead of its steel grey-blue, it reddened, at first giving the appearance of blood swirling beneath the waves, and then it turned brighter, almost crystalline.
‘Cullen!’ Samson shouted. Cullen looked up, saw Samson standing up to his waist in the scarlet water and looking so joyful it was contagious. Cullen smiled. Samson scooped water into his hands and then poured it over his face, fingers cupped. ‘The water’s fine! Don’t just stand there like a slack-jawed lout! Come in! Come in! The water’s fucking lovely.’
Cullen took a step towards the water, thinking he should be more disturbed about the blood, except that he knew it wasn’t blood. He could hear it singing to him, melodic and rich. It called to him, as though he was the harmony it needed to complete its song. It lulled him, made him realise that perfection was just a few steps away.
He hesitated. Looked down at what he was wearing.
‘I can’t,’ Cullen called back, hating that he couldn’t. ‘I’ll drown.’
He gestured to himself, at his outsized armour and his cloak and his clothing weighing far more than it should – and it was heavy enough as it was. Samson scooped up more of the water and tiny glittering red stars fell out of his hands. No, not stars – crystals. A cold shiver bolted down Cullen’s back. The sun disappeared behind clouds. The world tilted. Cullen stared at the lake as the shadows lengthened and whispered.
‘Come on then!’ Samson called. ‘Take it off! You don’t need it! What’s that costume ever done for you anyway? Look at this bleedin’ stuff, isn’t it beautiful?’
Long red crystals growing out of the lake, singing louder, chiming like incessant bells. Samson seemed not to notice when they grew from his palms and split his shoulders, when they crept along his flesh. The lily pads turned into disks of crimson. Cullen’s stomach turned, but the singing itself promised a pure peace, so he took a step, another step. Just one more small step and he’d be off the jetty, falling into it. A surrender so profound. It wasn’t even about the power it promised anymore. He wanted to feel so connected to something that he didn’t have to think about himself ever again. He could erase every memory in a moment, fall into bliss.
‘That’s it,’ Samson said, walking closer, his eyes glowing like a monster’s. ‘You won’t drown. Stop being so scared of your own fucking shadow all the time and just embrace it. It’s all around you anyway, you think you can escape?’
His tone went from cajoling to sinister in seconds. The jetty cracked and split, riddled and rotted through with red lyrium.
No time to cry for help, to get himself away from the danger. Cullen fell, shouting, plunged into the red. Then woke with a start, his heart racing so hard he thought it might split his chest.
Now, he pushed the bucket away and was glad someone would be up to clean it around noon. At least they were discreet. It was the fourth or fifth time he’d had the dream. It hardly changed. Ever since they’d discovered Samson was leading the Red Templars, his mind had given him that.
His schedule wasn’t fixed to a strict routine, so no one came to find him by ten bells or eleven bells. No war table meetings today, and only two short meetings scheduled for the afternoon, because he’d suspected that Summerday might trigger an episode. At least he could stay curled up on his bed, chastising himself for not getting up and getting a start on the day’s tasks, shivering so hard that his joints and muscles ached.
The urge to cancel seeing Bull dissipated. If anything, he wanted it more. Trying to blame his current state on those sessions was useless. But he couldn’t imagine being fit enough to be flogged to heavy bruising by the evening. Still, he’d make himself weather it. It would be worth it. Even if the idea of pain on top of what he was already experiencing was – at least today – something that made him cringe, he would…he’d get to see Bull, he’d have some moments to disappear into something that wasn’t lyrium. Even if he couldn’t trust it, even if his need to give himself away to something greater was dangerous, he could…he could…
Another wave of tremors, these more violent than the last, and he burrowed deeper into his blankets and felt the chill more acutely than usual. His hands felt like ice. When he bent his fingers, he couldn’t feel them beyond a stiff, rusty pain.
The first time this had happened to him, he’d thought he was dying. It was supposed to scare him, and instead he hadn’t even looked for assistance. He’d balled up on his bed and waited for the shivering dizziness and the shortness of breath to simply take him. The next day, when he woke feeling like his organs were bruised, like his brain was only tenuously secured in his skull, he’d been relieved it was over, and disappointed it wasn’t over.
Now he knew that once an episode clawed its way into him like this, there was little more he could do than wait for the worst to pass. Cassandra knew. Leliana knew. The Inquisitor, well…she’d seen signs, she knew enough. There may have been others who knew of the episodes, but most would put them down to stress or migraines or even battle sickness, and their thoughts thankfully didn’t go to lyrium and how wanting it clawed at him, how not having it crushed his will.
Sometimes he wondered if it was a little of the battle sickness as well. But it wasn’t as though he had many other Templars who were quitting lyrium to compare himself to. Most that stopped, were forced because they were ejected from the Order, and like as not, illegal lyrium was possible to find.
His gut heaved again, but there was nothing to bring up except sour saliva, which he absently swallowed back down. He was covered in a cold sweat. He knew enough to know that if he tried to force himself to work through this, he’d be sick for days. But if he gave himself a few hours now to be pathetic and miserable, he’d get through the episode faster.
At least he was too weak to go down to the Templars and beg for lyrium, because that was almost certainly what he’d be doing otherwise.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into the damp sheets, waiting it out, reciting broken pieces of prayer when he had the will to do so.
*
‘You look like shit,’ Bull said that evening, sitting in his chair by the table in the storage room, a sack of equipment by his feet. ‘You up to this?’
Cullen felt Bull’s assessment of how he looked was probably accurate. Even with bathing and ablutions, even with tentatively eating some bread and salt beef, he still looked gaunt. His nerves felt rubbed raw. He was no more able to bear pain now than hours earlier. Today was not the kind of day where he’d ground himself by rolling bruised shoulders. But Bull didn’t need to know that.
‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,’ Cullen said. Which wasn’t a lie, because he was definitely up to this. Under the list of difficult things he’d weathered over the past few years, this wasn’t even in the top hundred. But letting his thoughts stray down those kinds of paths was a dangerous thing to do, so instead he just faced Bull with his shoulders squared, and dared him to make an issue out of it.
Cullen might not have been in the mood for pain, but he wasn’t in the mood to be sent away, and he felt fractious enough to kick back if Bull so much as tried. There were a few moments where Bull looked like he wanted to, where Cullen dug his toes down into his boots and held back from gritting his jaw because his head was too sensitive, his brain still felt like it was floating around in its skull.
‘Yeah, okay,’ Bull said finally, lips quirking oddly. ‘You know the drill better than I do, right? Take your shirt off. Face the wall.’
Cullen made himself remove the shirt quicker than he really wanted to. But he was proving something to himself, to Bull, and given that his days were made of proving himself, he knew how to breathe through the sudden ratchet of pain inside of him. He knew how to move so that it didn’t look like he was favouring sore joints, an aching back. After all, a warrior that telegraphed injuries as soon as the going got tough wasn’t going to live a very long life.
He went to fold the shirt, but Bull stood and held his hand out for it, and after a fleeting hesitation, Cullen handed it over. Then Cullen walked to the wall of the storage room where he’d stood before, glad that he wasn’t being asked to sit in that chair and put his hands on the table – what a nightmare that had been, even if it had eventually gotten him to where he needed to get to – and placed his palms flat against the stone. His fingers felt like they were creaking. The tips were the kind of red that came from a hard chill, and on days like today, it didn’t matter how long he shoved them in front of a fireplace for, or wore gloves and vambraces; they’d still look like that.
‘I’m walking you back to your office after,’ Bull said firmly. ‘Remember? It was that or a bed.’
‘Fine,’ Cullen said.
No small talk. Cullen suddenly had the strangest feeling that he wasn’t the only one acting a little out of sorts. Bull was normally a bit warmer by now, wasn’t he? Or had that been Cullen’s imagination before? Was this one of those situations where being obviously unwell made Bull feel like he was being placed in a difficult position? Was this a Searidge situation? Was it-
‘I had a headache,’ Cullen said quickly. ‘This morning. It’s gone now. Truly, I’m fine.’
‘Uh huh,’ Bull said slowly. ‘And you want to get beaten after a headache that makes you look like that?’
No, Cullen thought, frowning. ‘Of course.’
That wasn’t exactly a lie either. He wanted the things that came attendant with the beating. He wanted to see Bull. He was sure the pain would come in handy the following days even if he didn’t want it today. He still desperately wanted to somehow be outside of himself, to not have to think. The more he had those dreams about Samson, the more he realised that a confrontation was coming; after all, he’d asked the Inquisitor to look into it, and she produced results. He had no idea what that confrontation would look like, only that he’d need to be there, and he dreaded it even as it made his fingers curl for the hilt of his sword.
Bull walked over and stood behind him without picking anything up. Cullen felt fingers press carefully along the undersides of his shoulder-blades, then along the top of his shoulders. After that, Bull started checking his back and shoulders like before. The touch was clinical, and far more thorough than the last two times. There were sections where Bull pressed an area of muscle before coming back and pressing it again, and then again. At one point, Bull’s exhale was audible, and didn’t sound exasperated exactly, but there was something in it that Cullen couldn’t place.
Bull’s fingers lingered around one of the worst scars that stretched from his flank to his back, and Cullen deliberately slowed his breathing through the sensation of nerves flaring, a skittering sort of agitation under his skin.
Bull placed his right hand flat against Cullen’s right shoulder-blade, pushing him lightly towards the wall. It wasn’t forceful, but Cullen still had to tense his arms to stop his chest from touching the stone.
Then, sharp needling lines of fire dragged down his skin. Bull had dug his nails in, scraping over muscles that were still too tender. Cullen made a choked sound before he could stop himself, he hadn’t even known to brace for it. Instead, an older, deeper instinct rose up inside of him and he lurched sideways, away, the sensation too much to bear.
Bull grabbed his upper arm easily, stopping him from getting much further, and Cullen was gasping, embarrassed and his cheeks flamed because he should have known.
‘Tell me again you want to get beaten tonight, Cullen,’ Bull said quietly.
‘I can take it,’ Cullen snapped, angry that Bull had tricked him like that. Bull’s hand tightened on his arm, and Cullen shifted, scowled at him.
‘Yeah, you sure can,’ Bull said, lips quirking in that odd smile again. ‘That’s not what I asked you, is it? I thought you Templars were meant to be good at following orders.’
‘Ex-Templar,’ Cullen said, not wanting to deal with this again so close to Summerday.
‘Let’s try this again,’ Bull said. ‘I’m gonna put emphasis on the right words, and then I want an honest fucking answer. Do you want to be beaten tonight, Cullen?’
Bull was using his name in that specific way he did sometimes. It needled at him. Made him feel like he was being addressed by a commanding officer. Except they’d usually use his last name. It made a part of him resentful. It made another part of him want to lean forwards into that strength and not have to think anymore. He could still feel the scratches that Bull had given him, burning on his back. His head was pounding dully. Bull’s hand around his upper arm made him feel like a child being restrained. He tried to shake it away and Bull didn’t let go. Cullen grimaced.
‘What I want, is to not have to think tonight. Do you think you can at least do something about that? It’s not up to you to decide-’
‘Say the word,’ Bull said, ‘or stop bossing me around. And you still haven’t answered the question. So you either say ‘katoh,’ or you answer my question.’
Silence then, except for the sound of Cullen’s breathing, which wasn’t nearly as controlled as he wanted it to be. He knew one thing, he didn’t want to say that damned word. And he didn’t want to be sent away. But if he was honest, then surely he’d be sent away anyway?
Feeling defeated, he shook his head and refused to make eye contact.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure that I wish to be hit tonight. I don’t know.’
‘Good,’ Bull said quietly, slowly, and Cullen grit his teeth together then and didn’t care how much it hurt, even if it made his head ache. He felt goaded, and when he went to jerk his arm away with more force, he fully expected Bull to let him go.
Bull didn’t. His hand tightened to the point where Cullen’s arm was hurting.
‘Thanks for telling me the truth,’ Bull said.
‘So are we done now?’ Cullen said, tasting sourness in the back of his throat. ‘Because if you want me to go you’ll actually have to let me go.’
‘Y’know,’ Bull said casually, as though he wasn’t having to hold Cullen in place, ‘sometimes I wonder what kind of conversations are going on in that head of yours. When did I say I wanted you to go? Because I know I can be forgetful, but geez.’
‘Well, we’re not going to have sex,’ Cullen said, because no, he didn’t want that either. Not tonight. ‘And I don’t particularly feel like making small talk. So…’
So what else is there?
‘I bet you make the soldier’s lives a living nightmare when you’re in a bad mood. Actually, I kinda know you do, enough of them come into the Herald’s Rest,’ Bull said, and his tone seemed genuinely light now. When Cullen glanced at him, the tension on his face from before had gone. ‘That must’ve been some headache. You get hit with them often? Oh, right, you didn’t come here for small talk. Come on then, back up against the wall you go.’
Bull reached around Cullen’s back and took his other arm, his height and breadth giving him the reach to do it easily. Then with a strength that Cullen was more used to feeling in Bull’s tightly controlled flogging, Bull simply moved him back to the position he’d been in before, right down to taking his wrists and pulling his hands up, and then pressing his palms flat to the stone. Cullen stared at the wall in confusion.
‘So,’ Bull said. ‘This is gonna be one of those times you’re gonna give control up to me, okay? It might not be easy, but that’s what’s gonna happen. Say it.’
‘I’m not saying it, I think we both know that I’ve already agreed to-’
‘Say it,’ Bull said amicably. ‘I’m not the one trying to boot you out of here. But I’ll do it if you don’t drop the attitude. You’re not the only one who gets to say the watchword.’
Cullen blinked at the wall, shocked. He opened his mouth to say what Bull wanted him to, but the words wouldn’t come. He tried to think of easier ways to say it, ways that would make it obvious that he was complying and thought having to say it was ridiculous at the same time, ways that might cover his nervousness.
Eventually, more than a couple minutes had passed and Cullen was just standing there with his palms on the wall and Bull looming over him, before he managed to say a rather sullen:
‘You have control.’
His mouth tensed after saying it. His fingers curled into the stone and he was glad he could hardly feel them. But his knuckles still sent that scratchy pain through him.
‘Thanks,’ Bull said. ‘I know that was hard for you.’
Cullen turned away from the wall, because that was too condescending, far too much to be borne. ‘Do you honestly think that I-’
‘The wall, Cullen,’ Bull said, his voice lower than before. ‘You can lie to yourself all you like, I don’t give a shit about that. But in this room, right now, I saw that it was hard for you, and I’m pleased you said that I have control, and you don’t need to come up with some defensive bullshit about it. I’m not asking for that. I’m asking you to face the wall.’
A shiver that could have been fear, but may have been something else. Cullen stilled, then turned back to the wall and placed his palms against it, feeling shaken. People weren’t supposed to talk to him like that. He didn’t quite flinch when Bull placed his hand on Cullen’s back, but it was a close thing.
‘Easy,’ Bull said, his voice still low. ‘I think I can help you out, Cullen, but you have to fucking give me a chance.’
‘Not going to go back to your room and find…and find relief after this, are you?’ Cullen said, feeling like maybe he should have just called the entire night off. And why did it matter whether Bull was going to do back to his room and do that or not? That was none of his business.
Except that he couldn’t imagine that Bull was getting a single thing out of this, and that was the only sign he’d been given so far that Bull tolerated these meetings. That he wasn’t going to call it all off. Though perhaps they’d still be able to play chess. Bull seemed to enjoy that.
‘The night’s still young,’ Bull said, and Cullen could practically hear the grin in his voice. If anything, it only sharpened his sense that he was getting everything wrong. If there were ways to ruin the situation, he was going to find every single one this evening, he could tell.
‘Maker,’ Cullen said. ‘I don’t know why I’m being like this. Forgive me. You deserve-’
‘Nope,’ Bull said, his hand still on Cullen’s back. ‘You got anything against being gagged?’
Cullen turned to look over his shoulder, incredulous, only to have Bull’s other hand shift his head forwards again.
‘The wall,’ Bull reminded him. ‘This? You facing it? Palms flat? I haven’t asked you to do anything else. Except answer another question. You got anything against being gagged?’
‘I…I’m not sure.’
‘Okay,’ Bull said, ‘you just stay put. It’ll be like the blindfold, okay? You don’t like it, you can reach up and pull it off whenever. I’m giving you permission.’
I don’t need your permission, Cullen thought with venom, even as Bull’s words simultaneously filled him with a mixture of dread and anticipation.
He listened to the sound of Bull rummaging around in his sack. Then, Bull was standing behind him. So close that the straps of his harness brushed Cullen’s back, the warmth of his skin welcome. There was the sound of something being uncorked, then the aromatic astringency of elfroot, and before Cullen could work out why that had anything to do with being gagged, he felt the lip of a potion bottle being pressed against his mouth.
Cullen jerked backwards, but Bull was standing too close for him to get anywhere at all, especially with the arm reaching around him like that.
‘Hands back on the wall,’ Bull said. ‘You’re drinking some of this.’
Cullen put his hands back on the wall without really thinking about it, but he kept his head turned to the side, away from the potion bottle, staring at the door.
‘What happens if I don’t?’ Cullen said.
‘Then I put this away, and you go back to your office or your draughty little room, and we try this another night when you’re not feeling so testy because of exhaustion.’
It was very tempting to simply leave. He didn’t want to take the elfroot, even though he knew it would help. He didn't like thinking about where that came from, or why he was so against it now. At the same time, Bull had asked him to do things he hadn’t really wanted to do in the past. When he’d done them, he hadn’t ended up regretting the choice to comply.
‘How much elfroot?’ Cullen said, he pretended his voice was perfectly even. Because people didn’t have problems with things like a healing potion. Even he knew that was absurd and irrational.
‘As much as I want you to have,’ Bull said.
The reminder that he’d ceded control to Bull twisted at him. Then he felt the cold rim of the glass again and he pressed his lips together, even though Bull couldn’t see it. About a minute passed, Cullen wrestling with himself, his fingers digging into the stone of the walls. Bull must have known his mouth was closed, because as soon as Cullen opened it, the potion bottle tipped slowly. Just enough that a small sip of the bitter stuff washed into Cullen’s mouth.
He swallowed, thinking the bottle would be taken away, but it wasn’t. Another long moment, and then Bull was giving him more, and Cullen’s nostrils were flaring and he thought if he ever got a chance to spar with Bull, he’d probably like to punch him. Just the once. Because Bull knew he didn’t like this. It wasn’t like Cullen had been subtle about it in the past.
Cullen must have had at least a quarter of a full bottle before Bull finally drew it away and Cullen exhaled and tasted that chlorophyll dense bitterness in his mouth. He expected Bull to walk away, and instead Bull placed the potion on the ground and then stood close behind him again.
A strip of fabric pressed against his mouth and Cullen grit his teeth together again. The elfroot potion was already working. The pounding of his head receding. The tension in his muscles less at the forefront of his mind. The gag bumped against his closed mouth several times, and then Bull chuckled.
‘Open your mouth,’ Bull said calmly. ‘You tell me you’ve got a problem with it, or open your mouth. Or, if you don’t open your mouth in the next five seconds and you don’t tell me you’ve got a problem with it, I’ll just force your mouth open. Works for me.’
Some deep, forbidden heat then, at those words. At the thought of fingers at his mouth and making him. But acknowledging that was more frightening than just opening his mouth and knowing he could pull it away if he needed to. So he opened his mouth and kept his tongue flat when the fabric pushed in. The strip was long enough that Bull could loop it around Cullen’s head twice, and then he tied a simple knot in the back of it. Cullen tentatively pressed his teeth into the material. Felt like cotton, or linen, tasted like a faint hint of soap. There was too much saliva in his mouth. The taste of elfroot did that to everyone, but he flushed at how awkward it would be to swallow.
More footsteps behind him. The elfroot potion being placed back in the sack. Cullen stared at the wall ahead of him, at his reddened fingertips. The elfroot was helping a great deal with remnants of the headache and muscle aches, it never removed the cold.
The next time Bull stepped up behind him, Cullen wanted to bury himself in relief. Wanted to borrow from Bull’s strength.
Then he saw the strip of black fabric coming over his eyes and he balked, a sound of muffled protest pushing through the gag.
‘Hands on the wall, Cullen,’ Bull said gently. ‘You can take this off if you need to. Remember?’
Cullen shook his head, but placed his hands back on the wall. Shook his head again. The black strip of fabric didn’t move, and Cullen knew Bull was waiting him out. Words rested unspoken on Cullen’s tongue. That he didn’t want the blindfold. That he didn’t want it to be hard. He hadn’t wanted it to be this hard. The sound he made after that was less protest, more despair.
‘You can do this,’ Bull said. ‘I’m gonna help you, and then you’re gonna go back to your room and sleep, and tomorrow’s going to be better. Okay?’
The blindfold slipped over his eyes. For some reason he’d already forgotten that it wasn’t entirely opaque, not that it mattered, it wasn’t like he could see much facing the wall anyway. When Bull finished tying it in place, he brought both hands down to Cullen’s shoulders and rubbed them. His hands were warm, and Cullen thought that maybe Bull ran hotter than most. Maybe all Qunari did. Lying next to him in a bed would probably mean he’d never feel as cold as he usually did.
He blinked at the darkness. That was a strange place for his mind to go, but Bull’s hands did actually feel soothing. His back no longer prickled with the oversensitivity of before, and the roughness of his palms felt good.
Cullen wanted to press his head against the wall, but – as he swallowed down saliva and knew it was starting to soak through the fabric of the gag – it occurred to him Bull might not want that.
‘Right,’ Bull said, as though talking to himself, even though Cullen was right there. ‘If you can’t bring yourself to remove the gag, you can smack your hand against the wall three times. That’ll mean ‘katoh.’ Otherwise, you’re just going to be quiet for a little while.’
At first Cullen felt chastened, but in truth, the inability to talk was a small weight off his shoulders. He didn’t have to think of the right thing to say, or agonise over ten different sentences – all sounding worse than the one before it – because he couldn’t speak. He could only make noises. All he really had to focus on was trying not to drool, because he really didn’t want to do that.
Even though he felt exposed – not being able to talk, not being able to see – he liked Bull’s hands on his back.
Thumbs dug into a point on either side of his spine, where his shoulders flowed up into his neck. They pressed, shifted, pressed again, and then Cullen’s voice hitched on an abrupt wash of pain. Bull grunted and then pressed harder.
‘Easy,’ Bull said again as Cullen’s arms bent, trying to move away. ‘It’s going to help. I picked some of this up from the tamassrans on Seheron.’
Bull kept his fingers in place, and even though nothing was touching the back of his head, he felt like like someone was trying to remove his skull from his neck. He pushed his head against the wall and closed his eyes, biting down into the gag.
‘It hurts a bit, but muscles do this weird thing where they don’t always know how to relax if they spend too long knotting up. And to get them to relax, you gotta push them around a little. Remind them what they’re meant to be doing. And you’re fucking tight, Cullen. And really, the only time I wanna be saying that to someone is when I’m pushing into them.’
Cullen gave an amused, pained exhale out of his nose, because there wasn’t much more he could do. Bull’s thumbs were now moving outward, following lines of muscle, the pain transforming from a deep, pounding ache into something malleable, almost like the burn after being struck.
That easier to bear pain lasted until Bull found the next place to dig his thumbs into. This time just behind his armpits, and Cullen had no idea the muscles there hurt so much. But he stayed still, and he remained quiet, swallowing saliva back when he remembered to and glad to have something to bite down on.
As Bull kept working, the pain peaked and then released, before peaking again. Bull moved down Cullen’s back very slowly, was still midway at his shoulders after at least fifteen minutes had passed. Already Cullen’s shoulders were feeling looser. And aside from the hitches in his breathing whenever Bull found a new, pained spot, he was finding it easier to breathe. Slow and deep. He felt like he was using the last third of his lungs for the first time in months. Even the Chantry breathing exercises hadn’t allowed him to take breaths this deep.
‘Yeah,’ Bull said conversationally. ‘Y’know, I’ve seen grown-ass Qunari try and push tamassran’s hands away and complain about the pain of this. Not me, of course! But that pain threshold of yours. Can be an amazing thing to have out in the battlefield. But can fuck you over in a second as well. What if I’d been someone else? And see here’s why you don’t need to be talking right now. Because I know what you’d say. Like, some version of – it’s fine, you can take it, it’s not a problem. But if there was ever a time you would’ve thrown a clot from being hit at a time when your body just couldn’t fucking take it, it would’ve been tonight.’
Cullen swallowed, had his eyes open again, staring into the darkness of the fabric. This was all rather unfair. Bull lecturing him while he was unable to talk. He also felt disinclined to talk. Either because finding words through the pain would have been impossible, or because once Bull smoothed out the muscle fibres, Cullen wanted to drift on the low, pleasant burning that remained.
Once Bull hit his lower back, Cullen’s hands slipped on the wall. It was hard to keep his arms up. A hesitation from behind him, and then Bull reached up and grasped him by the wrists – chest pressing against the top of his back – and lowered his arms until they were hanging by his side. Cullen was only braced by his feet and his head against the wall. He was sure his forehead was red, little gritty marks all over it. He didn’t really care.
‘That’s it,’ Bull rumbled from behind him.
Suddenly, all Cullen wanted to do was sleep. For the first time since he’d woken up in the morning, he knew he’d be able to actually rest. Maybe he wouldn’t even have the run of nightmares that he normally did. He’d get more distance between himself and that dream of Samson and the red lyrium. The singing he heard in his mind whenever he thought about it, so much louder than the blue lyrium, and it wasn’t like that had ever truly been quiet.
Bull hit a section of his lower back, just above his tailbone, that sent a shrieking pain through him. Enough that his breath stuttered and his hands came up to press against the wall again, slapping hard the stone. Bull hushed him, murmured something in Qunlat, then said:
‘Your hips are a mess. I think I’m gonna leave them alone tonight.’
Cullen only nodded and kept focusing on his breathing because it felt like Bull had pierced his skin and was just thrusting his thumbs through muscle. One of his inhales had a high wheeze at the top of it and Bull hushed him again. It was true that his hips hurt, a consequence no doubt of a mostly sedentary lifestyle followed by brutal sparring and practice in the ring. That and he never slept very well. Also his mattress wasn’t great. And then there was waking up tense from the nightmares and the cold. Curling up like he had today probably hadn’t helped.
He groaned softly and dropped his arms again. Clenching his fists by his sides. The list of reasons he had to be tense was probably longer than he knew.
‘I picked up bits and pieces,’ Bull continued, filling the space with his ability to provide easy conversation. ‘In Seheron, you needed to. Sleeping on hard surfaces, feeling like you always needed one fucking eye open – not something I’d be able to manage now – and then spates of battle followed by creeping around followed by…I don’t know, it was a shit show. From beginning to – well, no end to Seheron. If you didn’t learn how to deal with your muscles in the quiet times, you’d get felled by a cramp just as much as a blow to the head from some fucker’s axe.’
Cullen nodded to indicate he was listening. Also because he did know. Wearing plate armour tended to cause more problems than solutions sometimes, and he’d known fellows who had experienced their calves locking up, who had planted a foot while swinging a sword, only for the arch to seize brutally. He knew it himself. They were all practiced at fighting through it, but forcing a muscle to stretch when it was locking down on itself could tear it, and he didn’t know many Templars who - once involved in active battle – weren’t familiar with downing an entire elfroot potion to deal with damage their bodies had inflicted upon themselves.
Even with the elfroot helping, and Bull’s hands finding and diffusing tension, he was too world weary to force himself to bear up under a flogger this evening. It felt like another failure. One in a very long line.
These days, whenever he prayed before the statue of Andraste, he said a line that used to soothe him years and years ago. Now, he mocked himself with it, knowing that others would think himself as devout as he’d always been.
Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.
How many Templars had spoken that line? With fervency? With hope and belief in their hearts? And how many more said it while trying desperately to hang onto the belief that they’d never faltered? But sometimes he saw a Templar with some haunted expression in his or her eyes, heard rumours of other Templars trying to step back from the Order and failing, and he wondered how many others said the line like he did. Or if they just swore off it, knowing that they were no longer blessed. At least, not for that.
Bull’s fingers distracted him from his thoughts, trailing back up to the large scar on his flank and tracing the outline of it. Cullen grunted, and then tried to twitch away. Bull’s other hand settled high on his hip, holding him still.
The sound Cullen made after that was very close to a growl.
‘You have a lot of scars,’ Bull said, pressing the pad of his thumb flat to it. ‘But this one healed real badly, didn’t it?’
Cullen thought about saying katoh, then thought about slapping the wall three times, and then finally grit his teeth into the soaked gag and kicked back as hard as he could, catching Bull’s shin – through the edge of the brace and his pants – with the heel of his boot.
Bull moved his thumb away, but he hadn’t even grunted in pain. He didn’t even move. Cullen was breathing hard, trying to grind his teeth through the cotton. Because it was underhanded, doing that while Cullen was gagged. Cullen wanted to ask what his fascination was, after all, didn’t he have enough of his own? He was quite certain that if he reached up and removed the eye patch and tried to do the same to Bull’s ‘badly healed’ scar, it wouldn’t be a welcome gesture.
‘Okay, okay,’ Bull said. ‘Message received. Loud and clear, little lion. Y’know that might even bruise.’ When Cullen grunted a syllable that was meant to be a concerted ‘good,’ Bull started laughing. ‘Ah, Cullen. Do me a favour, don’t ever lose that fight of yours, yeah? World’d be far more boring.’
The laughter and the words were both a surprise, and Cullen felt himself breathing out a huff of amusement himself. The fact was he hadn’t always been like this. Not at all. There was a time when he’d been so very eager to please, so naturally obedient. Even his siblings teased him for it – the worst thing he ever did with them was try and act too parental, or disappear to his lake. He wasn’t a child reprimanded for naughtiness, but ostentatiousness.
‘But let me see if I’ve got this right,’ Bull said, resting his hands on Cullen’s shoulders again. ‘You’ll kick up a fuss if I touch a scar, but you wouldn’t have kicked up a fuss at all if I’d taken a flogger to your back while you felt shitty? Huh.’
Maybe, if Cullen got to spar with Bull any time soon, he’d land two punches. Just thinking about it felt vindicating. Cullen’s nostrils flared, but he forced himself to stay still. And then seconds later, Bull started rubbing his shoulders in smooth, long strokes that felt like a reward somehow. Which didn’t make any sense. A reward for what?
Cullen closed his eyes. The stroking of his back continued for some time, Bull’s large hands covering a large expanse of skin when both of them rested there together. It warmed him to think of what else those hands might be able to do. But otherwise he just focused on staying put, breathing carefully, trying to make the most of how miserable he didn’t actually feel.
When Bull dragged his nails down Cullen’s back like he’d done at the beginning, it didn’t feel like a bad fire this time, but like delicious friction. Cullen pushed back into the touch. It didn’t hurt exactly, but it woke his nerves and left the skin tingling afterwards.
‘Yeah,’ Bull said quietly. ‘That’s more like it. Right then. I’m still not gonna flog you tonight. But we can do something with this. Might not be exactly what you want, but let’s face it, Cullen – what you want is pretty hard on your body, and you shouldn’t be putting yourself through that on nights like this.’
Before Cullen could come up with some kind of mental reply, Bull began scratching him. Not short, sharp motions, but long, slow ones. Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough that his skin was probably blanching under the heavier touch. He rocked with the movements. Pushing forwards when Bull leaned his hands in, then moving back when Bull withdrew and found a new spot.
The movements were from his shoulders and neck down to his lower back at first, and Cullen hardly had to brace against the pain at all. It was sleepy, as relaxed as he felt. And the more Bull did it, the more Cullen just wanted to go lax. He shifted, spread his legs a little wider so he could lock his knees. After that, all he really focused on was making sure to swallow when he needed to, and staying upright.
It was amazing. It warmed his whole body. Made him feel like his blood was actually flowing again. There was just enough discomfort to edge outright into pain sometimes that he still felt like he was weathering something. Enough pleasure that it wasn’t taxing at all.
His breathing slowed further, as Bull began horizontal scratches that moved across all the marks he’d made before. Some of them stung like carpet burn, but those moments were faint and then swamped by the warmth that followed. Eventually, his back arched and his chest pressed against the wall. His eyes stayed closed, his feet shifted, seeking a greater stability so that he could relax into it further.
‘That’s right,’ Bull said, and Cullen could hear that Bull’s breathing was slow too. Rhythmic and even. ‘Feeling tired?’
Cullen made a faint sound of acknowledgement. Then stopped thinking about much at all. It wasn’t the perfect, floating state of mind he found at other times with Bull – it was like pre-sleep, when he’d found a comfortable position and knew that darkness would enfold him and that it wouldn’t be frightening for once.
A few minutes later, his knees buckled and his eyes flew open, even as an arm hooked around his chest and held him upright. Bull was chuckling behind him, the sound rumbling directly into Cullen’s stinging back. Cullen blinked, dazed, but wouldn’t fully come back to wakefulness. His knees felt weak.
‘I think you’re done for the night,’ Bull said, a smile in his voice. ‘Come on. I’ve got you.’
Cullen knew that he found his way back to the chair. He didn’t even bother taking off the gag, and closed his eyes again as he slumped against the table. Fingers picked at the knots at the back of his head, removed the gag first. Cullen felt the places where the edges of his lips were raw, even though the gag hadn’t been that tight. It felt strange to be able to press his teeth together.
He didn’t bother protesting when Bull rubbed a thin layer of salve into his back, he could feel that there were certain areas where the skin had been grazed open, and he’d heal fast from that anyway. He probably wouldn’t have a single bruise or mark to show for it the following morning, and he couldn’t bring himself to mind.
Bull then slid his hand beneath Cullen’s head, lifting it and pressing a mug of water to his lips. Cullen made a vaguely disgruntled sound and took the cup for himself, then drained it, drinking another half cup before he was done. Bull put the water bladder away, and Cullen wondered what exactly was in that sack as he rested his head on the desk again.
He must have dozed, though it couldn’t have been for too long. He roused to Bull running fingers through his hair against the grain. When he turned his head to look at Bull through lidded eyes, he felt his lips mirroring the smile on Bull’s face. As the silence stretched on, he felt he needed to say just one thing.
‘You talk too much,’ Cullen said, clearing his throat.
‘Mm, I like it when you’re gagged,’ Bull said, grinning at him. ‘Less mouthy. And something told me you were going to be a little shit tonight. Not that gagging you stopped that. Can feel my shin bruising right now.’
‘Such a shame,’ Cullen said.
‘You think you can get back to your office?’
‘Just watch me,’ Cullen said. It probably didn’t help that his voice was deeper and scratchier from tiredness, or that the words weren’t as concise as he wanted them. Bull huffed out a laugh.
Still, he did manage the walk back to his office with Bull at his side, the battlements clear of soldiers that might question. The climb up his ladder was easier this time, and he entered his room without really thinking about much except getting on his bed as soon as possible.
Bull, however, paused once he stood in Cullen’s room properly. His nostrils flared, and he frowned. Cullen hesitated at his bed, a cloud of uncertainty impinging on the empty tiredness he’d found.
‘Have the sheets been changed?’ Bull said. ‘It’s not good to sleep on a bed you’ve cold-sweated through.’
‘Oh,’ Cullen said. He could smell that? Cullen’s lips thinned, that was…disconcerting. Did his room really smell that bad? He looked around and tried covertly sniffing himself.
‘It’s a Qunari thing,’ Bull said. He walked over to the bed and pressed his palms down on it. ‘Though I think someone’s come in and changed them.’
‘They know to,’ Cullen said absently, trying to kick off his boots before realising that they weren’t the kind he could kick off, and bending down to undo the straps.
‘So this happens a bit then,’ Bull said. ‘For how long?’
‘Long enough that I’m used to it,’ Cullen said, getting his boots off and then tipping slightly, surprised to find Bull’s hand right there steadying him. For someone who was huge, he certainly had a way of moving about a room when he wanted to.
Together, they managed to get Cullen undressed and into a thin sleep tunic that would do very little against the cold. He lay on his side on fresh sheets, facing Bull, who sat at the corner of his bed, facing him.
‘Why do you do this?’ Cullen said, looking at him. ‘I can’t imagine what you get out of this.’
‘I know,’ Bull said. ‘But I do get something out of it, and one day you’ll trust that. Or you won’t. I get the sense you have some trust issues.’
Cullen laughed under his breath and his fingers curled beneath the blankets. Still cold. Even the warmth generated by all that scratching hadn’t warmed his hands. He’d just have to wait the worst of that out.
‘Perhaps a few,’ Cullen said.
‘Don’t overstate it or anything,’ Bull said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Didn’t figure you for hyperbole.’
‘You know you’re not as funny as you think you are.’
‘I’m not the one who just laughed at that,’ Bull said. ‘You were always one of those kids who liked to talk as soon as the candles or the lamps were blown out, weren’t you?’
‘Perhaps,’ Cullen said, thinking back to sharing a room with his brother and all the times they’d talked in whispers at night, Mia often coming to join them, until they woke their – not entirely happy – parents and had to go to sleep ‘properly.’ He hadn’t thought of that in such a long time.
‘You got anything you want to talk about now?’
Cullen thought about the heat in his back, thought that he was glad that he hadn’t called it off. That it was a miracle that Bull put up with him. Because he wouldn’t. If a recruit talked back to him the way Cullen talked to Bull, he’d…well, he certainly wouldn’t be able to display the same degree of patience.
‘Would you ever draw blood?’ Cullen said. ‘In regards to what we do? I imagine- You said that you’ve had sessions with people who’ve wanted more extreme things. I know you said you didn’t want to, initially, with me. But would you? Not every time, however…’
Bull’s expression was sober. He shifted on the bed and the frame creaked.
‘I could,’ Bull said slowly. ‘But I’d like to know why you want that.’
‘I don’t, most of the time,’ Cullen said, stifling a yawn. ‘I thought I did. And then after our first session I thought I wouldn’t need it again. But sometimes… There’s nothing else really like it. It’s not about the blood, really. I know this sounds perverse, I do know that. Maker, if the others could hear me...’
He trailed off, cheeks heating.
‘They’re not here,’ Bull said. ‘And you know I don’t have a problem with it. But you need to talk to me about it.’
‘Yes, well,’ Cullen said, wondering at how much easier it was to talk like this. It shouldn’t have been easy at all. ‘I liked it, with Searidge. When my skin would split. It would almost be too much. Or it would be too much. But after- It helps me focus. That’s important to me.’
Bull was still studying him, and then he shrugged.
‘Normally I’d be like ‘fuck yeah,’ because I like being able to go those places with someone. And I think I’d really fucking like it with you. Shit yeah. So how ‘bout we do a thing where if you want that specifically, you ask me on the night, and we figure it out then. Sometimes I’m gonna say no.’
Cullen sighed. It was better than what he’d had with Searidge. Getting cut every time in those shorter sessions before Searidge pulled out entirely. His cheeks were also heating. Bull would do it with others, but not with him? And he wanted to be affronted at that, but he couldn’t make himself. Only embarrassed that Bull couldn’t trust him entirely, and Cullen wasn’t sure he should.
‘All right,’ Cullen said. ‘That sounds reasonable.’
‘Well, now I know you’re ready to be put to pasture. Thinking I sound reasonable? Shit. I’m gonna leave you to sleep. Chess in a few days?’
‘You don’t feed me anymore,’ Cullen observed sleepily. ‘And yes, chess in a few days. I’ll line it up.’
‘Make sure it’s before Thursday, I think the boss wants us traipsing around the land of trees. Er, the Emerald Graves. You want me to feed you?’
‘I’m too tired to eat,’ Cullen said.
‘And that’s why I didn’t get you to eat tonight,’ Bull said, smiling at him. ‘Because you’d probably choke on it.’
Bull stood, and Cullen wanted to thank him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, his brow furrowed as he realised something.
‘The Emerald Graves… Why? Have you been told?’
‘Something to do with hunting down some letters looking for that right hand dick that serves Corypheus, and then whatever else comes up while we’re there, because you know the boss.’
The Inquisitor was looking for ways to track down Samson. Cullen felt his attention try to catch on it, knew his mind wanted to rouse and sink teeth into it. But Cullen took a slow breath and deliberately tried to let it go. He was too tired. The fuzzy warmth was something he wanted to hang onto until he forgot about his cold hands.
‘You good?’ Bull said, hesitating.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Cullen said. When Bull turned to leave, Cullen felt the words spill anyway. ‘I mean it. I am grateful.’
‘Hey,’ Bull said, smiling back over his shoulder. ‘Anytime. Don’t expect me to go easy on you when we play chess though.’
‘It will just make winning a lot sweeter,’ Cullen said sleepily.
Bull was still laughing as he descended the ladder.
Cullen settled down to sleep. Three things drifting in his mind, bumping together like paper boats on a lake. The first – that the Inquisitor was looking for Samson. The second – that he was going to get his roof fixed, because it was cold in here, and while he’d convinced himself it was fine, he loathed it after the sessions with Bull. The third – Bull had called him ‘little lion.’ He was quite sure that hadn’t been his imagination.
After about a minute of reflection, he was also quite sure he didn’t mind it. His breathing turned slow and deep once more, his last thoughts of the ice cold of his fingers and the warmth radiating through his back.
|
Matthias
Hey guys
(17:36)
I have news
I mean most of you are here anyway but still
(17:37)
So they just said that there’s likely no long-term damage. The worst there could be is maybe very slight liver damage and maybe a little bit of hearing loss but that all depends on when he actually took the pills
(17:39)
The doctor just said that they’re almost done with the second round of some kind of charcoal treatment, which should get everything out of his system
(17:40)
He’s also intubated right now but they should be taking that out soon I think?
So that’s it
(17:42)
Matthias sighed and once again wished he hadn’t tied his hair up; he had a nasty habit of running his hands through his hair while stressed. He never had been good with hospitals (or stress in general), and all he could do was just sit there and curse his fat fingers for making it hard to text quickly. On his left, Kuwei doodled something vaguely sciencey, and on his right, Nina was doing her super intense stress knitting. He wished he had something to do with his hands.
Nina huffed. “You could hold my yarn.”
“What?”
Her shoulders did that little twitch thing they tended to do when she was amused. “You’re getting all fidgety and Jesperish. If you need something to do with your hands, you can hold my yarn.”
When Matthias had first gotten to check his phone after the flurry of activity in the ER, he’d found over forty unread messages in the group chat and around fifteen missed calls. As it had turned out, Nina had glanced at her phone during class, heard the message, and promptly told everyone else. And then, just a few minutes later, the doors to the waiting room had flung open and Nina had enveloped him in a hug for the first time since they’d broken up.
She’d brought Wylan and Kuwei with her. Inej was on a trip to visit some girls that had just gotten out of sex trafficking, so she would be on her way eventually. Jesper had been near the end of his three-hour drive home when he’d gotten the message, so he was planning on stopping home for a minute or so, picking up his dad, and coming right back.
So that’s how they ended up. Nina knitting, Kuwei doodling with Wylan giving objective criticism, Matthias worrying, and all of them trying not to talk about the real issue at hand.
Which, for everyone else, was probably worrying about how they hadn’t seen the signs, how they hadn’t really
done
anything and just accepted Kaz’s horrible coping mechanisms as part of him.
For Matthias, it was the memory of Kaz’s whole body shuddering and then locking up, the way his (already distant) eyes seemed to stare through him and Matthias
knew
that he’d been seeing whatever had brought him into this whole mess. And Matthias had just stayed there until something finally snapped and Kaz passed out.
It was something that nearly every single Ketterdam University student knew. You don’t touch Kaz Brekker. Or, as Matthias had overheard once,
you know that creepy sophomore with the cane? Don’t touch him if you plan on keeping your life.
The funny part was that no one really knew
why.
Matthias knew bits and pieces, like the rest of their little group; there was something about a hurricane, a dead brother, and a bunch of corpses. He had a theory that Inej knew the whole story; however, she was dedicated to keeping his secrets.
If only she wasn’t such a fundamentally good person.
Inej was… how do you describe Inej? She was near the top of their class, a pre-law major, president of several clubs on campus,
and
heavily involved in an organization working to bring down sex trafficking. Twenty years old, like the rest of them, and just so
good
that it physically hurt. That, combined with the past that she’d been open about from the beginning. No wonder Nina was so in love with her.
And then they had Wylan to finish out the Traumatic Backstory Trio, even if he was kind of quiet about a lot of it. All that Matthias knew was that his dad was rich and kind of evil. Wylan got really quiet at the mention of his father, but they’d all seen the physical and emotional scars and come up with a fairly clear link.
And then there was Nina, Jesper, Kuwei, and Matthias himself, who still had varying degrees of (capital necessary) Issues. Sometimes he wondered if people like them were drawn together somehow, like there was some sort of mental illness magnet drawing them together.
Matthias wasn’t good with emotions. He didn’t really know.
jazz hands
ok we’re on our way back
dad says he wants to see his fav foster son again
(18:22)
i mean he’s kind of fucked up about this whole thing but
he’s calmed down now
(18:23)
van sunshine
Drive safely!!
(18:24)
jazz hands
will do bae ;)
(18:24)
Kool-Aid
youre disgusting
(18:25)
It wasn’t much longer until the same doctor from earlier came out, looking a bit surprised at the small army that had come to join Matthias. The only perk of your suicidal friend having no family was the fact that the doctors just default to the person who brought them in. It was easier than trying to pry information out of the doctor.
“He’s able to breathe on his own now,” she said, her voice even and soothing. “We believe the charcoal treatment removed all but the slightest traces of salicylate from his system, which is a good sign. Overall, it seems he reacted well to treatment.” A slight pause. Probably the shift from physical to emotional signs. “Right now, the psychiatrist is with him to determine where to go from here. After he’s done, you’re free to visit, however…” Her eyes roamed over the little crew that had assembled. “I wouldn’t recommend all of you going back. Perhaps just one or two of you. I’ll be back in a moment.” She turned on her heels and walked out.
“Okay,” Nina said, “So who are we sending into the lion’s den?”
Matthias really wished Inej was there.
“I think Matthias should go,” Wylan said softly. “He was the one who found him, after all.” Of course, there he went. Wylan Too-Pure-For-This-Earth Van Eck.
“No,” Matthias and Nina said at the same time.
Kuwei tilted his head. It was scary, the way he and Wylan seemed to be on the same page all of the time. “Matthias seems like a good kid.” He had a strange habit of calling everyone “kid”, probably due to how quickly he’d learned English on top of however many other languages he knew. No one had the heart to correct him; besides, it was kind of adorable.
“Matthias has the emotional range of a teaspoon,” Nina said. “Believe me, I would know. I dated him.”
In the end, it was decided that Wylan should be the one to go in. Besides being the purest and kindest person alive, everyone knew Kaz had a sort of fondness for him. To be fair, it was impossible to not feel at least a little bit protective over Wylan. Even though he was only a year younger than the rest of them, he had this sort of innocent puppy look.
Wylan flashed them a small smile when the doctor came back. He was good for Kaz, Matthias decided. It was like being with a puppy. No one could be sad when Wylan was nearby.
… Or maybe they could, because only around fifteen minutes later, Wylan reappeared. “He, um… he wants to talk to you, Matthias.”
Fuck his life. How did it come to this?
“Are you sure?” Matthias said, probably too loudly.
“I mean, I’m almost certain he said ‘Matthias.’ Should I ask again, or…?”
Godammit, Van Sunshine.
“Haha, yeah, I think maybe you misheard-”
“What is
wrong
with you?” Nina asked, slapping his arm. “Earlier today you were fighting me to talk to him, and then you brought him here and have been worrying your head off. What changed?”
“The fact that I knowingly triggered a fucking panic attack or a flashback or whatever the hell he gets?” Matthias roared, again probably too loudly. He winced at the look the old lady a few rows up gave him. Of course he said that. Of course he did. He wanted to shove his foot in his mouth.
“What?” Nina said, head tilting to the side in that birdlike way she liked to.
Matthias gave a deep sigh. “It was a few minutes before the paramedics arrived, I think. I don’t know. He kind of- he kind of freaked out. I mean, he was really out of it when I first got there and kind of thought I was his brother, but he had this moment where I guess it was all kind of clear and he realized it didn’t work? So I guess he’d broken a bottle earlier and there was this glass piece nearby and I think he tried to slit his throat with it, but I wouldn’t let him do that so I kind of tackled him and held his hands down and- yeah. He didn’t have his gloves on, and I think he was kind of not in a good mindset, and… it was bad. Really bad.”
Foot, farther in mouth. They looked at him in awe. Either they were shocked at what he’d said, or the pace at which he’d said it. The only good thing about his little impromptu speech was the fact that he probably said it too fast for anyone to understand.
“Look, Matthias,” Wylan said, having taken several steps closer. “I- I don’t know you guys as well as you do. I mean, Kuwei and I are both kind of outsiders. But I know you, and I know you try to do what’s right, and who knows what would have happened had you not kept his hands down? And I know it’s scary, what you did, but… it was for his own good. And I don’t think he’s mad at you.” He blushed. “But, I mean, that’s just what I think.”
Fucking cinnamon roll.
“Thank… you?” Matthias said, voice squeaking a bit.
And then he stood up and went down the hall before he could talk himself out of it.
The first thing he noticed in the room was the guy in the corner, sitting impassively in a chair and staring somewhere up at the ceiling. Suicide watch. The doctor had warned Matthias about that back at the beginning.
The second thing was how tired Kaz looked.
He almost looked worse now than he had back in the room. Perhaps it was the awareness. The Kaz he had seen was in a drug-haze, and he’d looked
young
in a way that he supposed the real Kaz never had. Now, there was still a hint of fuzziness in his eyes, but he was far more alert.
Matthias thought back to when the paramedics had arrived. Kaz had woken up, vomiting again, but then screaming a bit when they’d come closer. “Don’t touch me,” he’d said, voice hoarse and rockier than usual. It had become a mantra until his voice had given out and they’d injected him with something to put him out again.
They probably still had some kind of sedative in him. Perhaps it was for the best? Matthias couldn’t imagine the amount of people who had probably been touching him in the past few hours.
“I think I’m supposed to thank you,” Kaz said, voice gravelly and barely there.
“Are you? I mean, I don’t think there’s an overwhelming need to-”
“Why did you come to check on me?”
There was acid in his tone, similar to the undertones Nina often used. Matthias dimly recognized the connection. She must have gotten it from him.
“I don’t-”
“You’ve hated me since the day I met you. You have no connection to any of us except Nina, and she hates you because of what you did to her. So why did you come by?”
“I-”
Because this was always what happened, wasn’t it? Matthias wasn’t good with words; he was good with actions and using his fists to get a message across. He could use his fists to get out of a problem, could even run away if the situation called for it. When it came to talking, he tended to shut down. It just- this wasn’t him.
Was that a good thing?
He felt torn.
“I’m trying to make a change. I guess… I thought if I tried to show people I care, then I could somehow worm my way into this little group you have. I thought maybe if I showed that I could handle you in a funk, maybe people would like me.”
Kaz laughed, a short bark that quickly turned into a cough. “That’s cute. Touching, really.”
Why had he let Wylan talk him into coming back here?
Something in the back of his mind told him there was no need to be so worried. The person taunting him- really, the one with control in this situation- was hooked up to an IV, probably hadn’t slept (naturally; medically induced or passing out didn’t count) for days, most likely had some kind of drug still in his system, and looked like death (moreso than normal). Matthias could easily take him out (plus Corner Man would definitely be on his side) but this wasn’t the sort of fight he was used to. He could do guns blazing and fists flying, but this whole talking thing? Not his forte.
“You can just say whatever’s been nagging at you this whole time. I’m in no place to judge you right now,” Kaz said.
“Listen, I… the only reason I came back here was so I could apologize. For what I did back in your room. There was no reason to hold onto you for as long as I did, and I knew what would happen but I stayed there and… I’m sorry.”
For once, Matthias saw genuine surprise twist Kaz’s face before he quickly resettled into a neutral face of vague anger. Had Matthias actually surprised him?
“I don’t know why you think you have to apologize. I’m not mad. I’m just… confused.” He definitely surprised him. A point for Matthias.
“You’re not mad?”
“I had a moment of… weakness. I couldn’t clear my head, and I realized that I really just did not want to be here. So I tried to leave.” Kaz yawned, just a little bit. Matthias imagined he was tired. Maybe that was why he was being so open right now? “All that you did was keep me here. Maybe I should be angry. I don’t know. I’m not really feeling much right now.”
“Look, Kaz,” Matthias said, moving closer to the bed. “I’m glad you made it. And I think maybe this is a good chance for you to start getting some help. You don’t need to go about this whole thing alone.”
“I don’t really need help.”
Matthias raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? Because this whole situation doesn’t really show that you have it all together.” Shit. That was kind of rude. To be fair, Kaz was kind of the king of rude, but he kind of wished he could take that back. “I mean, that’s okay. Not a single one of us has everything together. But… just think about it. Maybe you don’t think you need help, but I think we can help you out. Make living worth it.”
“Maybe,” Kaz said, blinking back sleep. He was kind of adorable, all sleepy like this. He’d be pissed later at how open he’d been, but for now, Matthias could enjoy sleepy emotional Kaz. It was a welcome change from the dead-eyed thing he normally was.
“Sleep,” Matthias said, using his Big Brother Voice. “You’ll feel better.”
It didn’t take long until his breathing evened out.
Matthias
So I think we just had a bonding moment?
(19:04)
jazz hands
holy shit and i wasn’t even there to witness it
(19:06)
queena
pics or it didn’t happen
(19:07)
Matthias
sleepykaz.jpg
(19:10)
kool aid
CUTE CUTE
(19:11)
queena
i’m dying inside
(19:11)
also we’re all kind of on our way back
surprise
(19:13)
|
“Raven, I can’t believe you convinced me to buy this. I can’t wear this; I’m coming back right now. Please call Clarke to let her know.” Lexa was standing in front of Clarke’s door and she felt absolutely ridiculous. She couldn’t understand how she had let Raven convince her to buy a dress, especially this dress. In the store it had seemed a good idea; she wasn’t one to wear dresses a lot, but she had wanted to look special. Raven had been complimenting her, and the lady from the store as well, and Lexa herself had liked it too, but she couldn’t fathom why now.
“What’s wrong with the dress, Cinnabon, you look sexy as hell. Did you spill on it?”
“I didn’t spill anything, I look ridiculous. People are staring at me; they think I’m some kind of attention-seeker.” Lexa was starting to feel her anxiety level rise as all those thoughts were popping up in her head. What if Clarke would think that too? She didn’t think she would be able to handle that very well.
“Lexa,” Raven’s voice had a hind of exasperation in it, “we have had this discussion less than an hour ago. You look amazing, the combination of leather and a princess collar is perfect for you. You are just nervous. You wore ten different outfits and you still felt you looked ridiculous remember?”
Lexa felt herself calm down a little at Raven’s words. It was true, she had even tried on her favourite pair of jeans and a shirt, but she had still felt uncomfortable, so much so that she almost wondered if she wasn’t getting sick. In the end Raven had convinced her to wear the dress and she knew Raven wouldn’t let her go out looking completely ridiculous. But doubts still plagued her mind. “But Clarke-“
“No, no more buts from you, you have lost your but-ing right by being crazy. Listen to me; Clarke is going to love whatever you wear. You could have gone in your sweatpants and she still would have thought you were the best dressed girl around. She doesn’t care what you look like, but she will love this. Now where are you? Are you there yet?”
“Yes,” Lexa mumbled quietly. She had been standing here for a few minutes already, but she had been too scared to ring the doorbell.
“Okay, so take a deep breath, you look amazing. You got your flower?”
“Yeah I got it.”
“Alright then Cinnabon, I am going to hang up now, you’re going to ring the doorbell and you are coming straight to my room when you get home. And if you don’t you will text me!”
“Raven, we’re not, I’m not-“
“You will text me if you don’t come home tonight.”
“Okay, I’ll text you, promise.”
“Good, now ring that doorbell.”
“Okay, and Raven? Thanks.”
“Any time, Cinnabon.”
Lexa hung up the phone and smiled a little; Raven’s protectiveness and slight mom attitude reminded her of Anya sometimes, but Anya was her sister, her family. She had had to take care of Lexa because that’s what family did. But not Raven, Raven did this on her own, and Lexa was fairly sure this meant they were friends, real friends.
She lifted her hand to the doorbell with Clarke’s name beside it. Why was it this hard to actually press it. She could just feel all those nerves Raven had temporarily taken away rush back. When she had asked Clarke on a date with her she had really been looking forward to it. She had felt confident that she would think of a perfect date, but the more time had passed the more nervous and less confident she had gotten. Waiting here wasn’t going to do her any good either, because even though part of her wanted to run back home and hide under the covers she knew she wasn’t going to because she wanted this date with Clarke more. This was their start, well the sequel of the start.
“Come on, Lex, you can do this.” She had her hand close to the doorbell when the door opened. This startled Lexa enough to jump back in surprise and clutch her chest.
“Hey Lexiloo, whatcha doing?”
Lexa’s eyes immediately focussed on the source of the voice, which was an absolutely beautiful looking Clarke, who leaned against the doorway, looking at her with a slight smirk.
“I I I…” Lexa had made the mistake of letting her gaze move from Clarke’s face down her body, and now she could hardly even remember what she was trying to say. Clarke looked absolutely beautiful in a short, white dress that would have made her look like an angel if it hadn’t been for the way it fitted her curves, and focussed your eye on the most beautiful, sinful cleavage Lexa had ever seen.
“Lex,” Clarke pulled her out of her stunned boob appreciation with a smile, “you’re staring.”
This caused Lexa to flush red, “I’m so sorry,” she started to stammer, “you just look so beautiful and your dress, I really do apologise, I just you” she moved her arms up and down towards Clarke, indicating her appearance and shook her head to clear some of that hazy mist that had been hanging around there.
Clarke let out a soft chuckle, “it’s okay, and I am glad you like my dress, because you,” and the way Clarke had said you made Lexa focus her gaze back to her face, only to see Clarke licking her bottom lip, “look stunning. You should wear a dress more often. Is that for me?”
“Hmmm?” Lexa had been too dazed by the entire situation to be completely present in the conversation. Clarke had dressed up like this for her! Clarke thought she looked good in her dress, she could almost hug herself with glee. Then Clarke’s last words seemed to land and Lexa looked down at her hand that had a single sunflower in it. She nodded shyly, stretching out her arm to hand it over to Clarke, unable to completely meet her eye, but sneaking glances up at Clarke’s face to try and gauge her reaction. Lexa had done it quite impulsively; Raven and Anya had teased her mercilessly, before assuring her that it was really sweet.
Luckily Clarke seemed to think so too because her smile brightened even further as she lifted it up to her face and sniffed it. ”Thanks Lexiloo, I love it! And let me guess, a sunflower because my hair is like sunshine, right?” She grinned and twirled a loose, blonde curl around her finger
Lexa’s eyes widened slightly, she hadn’t expected Clarke to out rightly ask right away the meaning behind the sunflower. That was not how it went in movies, people smiled and hugged and maybe even gave the other a kiss when they got flowers. People didn’t go and ask why this particular flower. She should have gone with a rose, then there wouldn’t have been this questions, but that wouldn’t have been right. Lexa had taken a long time before finally deciding what flower to get. She also realised she owed Clarke an answer so she shook her head.
“No?” Clarke’s head tilted slightly in question, “you going to tell me? Or do I need to keep guessing because we then we’ll be here all night.”
Lexa looked down at her dress, trying to smooth out a non-existent crease. “A sunflower symbolises adoration and dedication.” She had said it very quietly, and she hadn’t even been sure if it had even been hard enough for Clarke to hear; but the gasp and the fact that Clarke had her arms wrapped tight around her within seconds made her think she heard.
“Lexa,” Clarke’s voice was but a whisper in her ear and it made her shiver. “Thank you, I love it so much,” Clarke pressed a kiss to Lexa’s cheek. “I am going to put it in water, grab my jacket and bag and then we’ll go alright?”
***
Lexa kept sneaking glances at Clarke, who was seemingly enjoying her food. Was she doing a good job? She wasn’t sure, after all she never really had had a first date. Well she had had dates with Costia, but they had known each other for so long already it was completely different than this. She felt like she should be making conversation, but what was she supposed to say? There was so much she wanted to tell Clarke, to show her, but she didn’t know how or where to start. Every time she opened her mouth her brain would freeze and she would quickly shut it again.
“Miss, is there something wrong with your food?”
Lexa looked up in surprise as a waiter had come over. “I’m sorry?”
“I noticed you have hardly eaten anything and I wondered if maybe there was something wrong with it, because if so then I can take it back and get you something new, on the house of course.” He sent her a bright smile, while waiting for her answer.
“Oh,” Lexa looked down at her plate in surprise, she hadn’t even fully realised there had been food there. Lexa blushed slightly at herself, she must have looked like an idiot for that waiter to come to their table and ask. “Uhm no it’s fine, thank you though.”
“Are you sure? Or maybe you want a free refill? Your wine glass looks a little empty.”
“I…” She looked at her wineglass, seeing it was still half full, which made her even more confused. She looked up at Clarke in hopes that she could explain what was going on because Lexa was getting the feeling something was going on that she had no idea of. Clarke however wasn’t looking at Lexa; her eyes were fixed on the waiter in what seemed to be a mixture of annoyance and anger.
“My date seems to have enough still; however, I could use a little more.” She indicated her own glass, while she took hold of Lexa’s hand on the table, giving it a squeeze.
The guy turned his face slowly towards Clarke, muttering a little stiffly “of course” as he took her glass and walked off.
Lexa raised an eyebrow in confusion as she caught Clarke’s gaze, “that was weird right? I wonder what that was all about.”
At that Clarke let out a laugh, “isn’t it obvious?”
Lexa shook her head, not answering as the guy came back and put Clarke’s glass back on the table. Lexa had been too focussed on Clarke’s features and the feel of her hand to really be conscious of the fact that something was going on until she felt Clarke’s grip tightening on her fingers. That caused her to look down at their hands, putting her other hand on top of Clarke’s so it was caught between both her hands.
“Ugh that guy is the worst, he is not getting a tip.” Clarke huffed, taking a deep drink from her glass.
“What did he do? I thought he was very polite.”
“Sure you would think that.” Clarke pulled her hand back and crossed her arms, but there was still a twinkle in her eyes.
“What? Why, what do you mean?”
“He was hitting on you, Lexa.” Clarke rolled her eyes.
“No, he wasn’t.” Part of Lexa wanted to laugh at the ridiculous notion, but another part of her flushed at the thought that Clarke might be jealous. Could that be what she sensed, that Clarke felt jealous at the thought that a random guy might be flirting with her?
“Yes he was!”
“Are you jealous?” Lexa teased
“Can you blame me? Asking if your food was okay and the smile he sent you when he brought me my wine. He didn’t even look at me. Ugh, revolting.” Clarke shuddered with disgust.
“He was looking at me? I didn’t notice, I was too busy looking at you.” At that Lexa flushed slightly and looked down a little before looking up at Clarke again, seeing her slight annoyance replaced by a sweet smile.
“You know just how to appease me.”
Dinner had been lovely, even though their waiter had been a total douche canoe. Just thinking about that punk made Clarke want to roll her eyes as she took a hold of Lexa’s hand as they walked, letting it swing back and forth in between them.
“So where are we going now?” Clarke wondered.
“You’ll see.” Lexa smiled brightly and seemed so much more calm and confident than she had been all evening that Clarke decided to just wait it out. Part of her felt bad that Lexa had felt so incredibly nervous. She worried about it a little, Lexa had hardly eaten any of her food and she hadn’t said a lot. Of course they had talked, about a wide variety of stuff, but it had been chit-chat. Somehow Clarke had this feeling that Lexa hadn’t really been talking. She couldn’t explain it, like Lexa had been trying really hard to make sure everything was perfect, to be the perfect date, without realising that all she had to do to be just that for Clarke was to be herself.
All of a sudden they stopped, Lexa was moving to step on the grass.
Clarke gently pulled Lexa back on the stone. “Lex, what are you doing? I am not wearing the right shoes or dress for grass-walking or sitting.”
“Please?” Lexa turned around and looked at her with a combination of such innocence, happiness and those damn pouty lips that she couldn’t say no. If that girl only knew how easily she could persuade Clarke.
“Okay, fine,” Clarke rolled her eyes and bent down to take off her shoes, “but there better be a good reason.”
“Oh there is, at least…” Clarke saw uncertainty take over in Lexa’s mind as her smile faltered. She tugged on Lexa’s hand, hard enough to pull the girl stumbling in her embrace. Lexa swallowed thickly as their faces were only centimetres apart, she finished her sentence with hitching breath “at least I th-think it’s a good reason.”
Clarke smiled, brushing the tip of her nose along Lexa’s, she had already dropped her shoes to cup Lexa’s cheek. “If you believe it’s a good reason then it is. I trust you.” She placed a soft kiss to those soft, pink lips. She was so thrilled that she could do this now, sometimes she could hardly believe it. And if she had to guess then it would be that Lexa was thrilled too because she could feel the other girl hum against those lips, before pulling away and whisper slightly flustered.
“That was very nice, thank you. I, we, you, I mean, I think we should not kiss now because otherwise I will forget what I wanted to show you.”
Clarke smiled, brushing the flush on Lexa’s cheek with her thumbs, following it with soft kisses, moving to her ear. “If you insist,” She pulled away, smirking as she watched Lexa blink rapidly a few times. When Lexa saw her smirk though she got a soft push against her shoulder, while Lexa tried and failed to glare, making Clarke’s grin even wider.
“You did that on purpose.”
“Guilty,” Clarke winked to Lexa, “consider it pay back for that flirting waiter.”
“Clarke,” Lexa sighed and rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t keep up the act, she let out a giggle. “If kissing is your payback maybe I should get you to believe people are flirting with me more often.”
Clarke’s mouth dropped at the audacity “Oh don’t you dare!” She pulled Lexa in her arms, Lexa’s back to her front, wrapping her arms around the girl holding her tight. “Because if you do, I can play dirty too.” She moved her lips to ghost the shell of Lexa’s ear, then moving down tracing Lexa’s jawline and her neck, before moving back to her ear. She grinned to herself as she could hear Lexa’s breathing speed up. She moved her lips back to the shell of Lexa’s ear, whispering “and my dirty, really is the dirtiest you have ever seen.” She gently nipped Lexa’s earlobe before letting go, smiling smugly to herself and saying with an extra bright voice. “Okay now what were you going to show me?”
“I…” Clarke looked at Lexa with raised eyebrows, silently daring her to say anything, but Lexa seemed too dazed to really notice it or engage. Lexa shook her head a second, “right, come.” She smiled as she took a hold of Clarke’s hand and took her across the grass.
“A tree, Lexa, all this for a tree?”
“Will you just come sit down next to me?” Lexa sounded irritated as took off her jacket and lay it on the ground for Clarke to sit on.
“Hey, what’s got you so wound up? I was just teasing.” Clarke looked at Lexa as she sat down, frowning when she saw the tense look on her face. Lexa was clearly very nervous about something. “Which looking at you now was probably not the smartest thing to do right now.” She tried to win over Lexa with an apologetic smile. Lexa frowned a little and took Clarke’s hand, pressing a kiss to it, which made Clarke smile.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you. I am just a little nervous, okay a lot nervous,” she said when Clarke raised a brow, “it’s just, this is the tree.”
Lexa was looking at her, but Clarke had no idea what to say, she had no idea what Lexa meant by the tree. It obviously was something important to her, but she couldn’t think of a single story of a tree. For a second she felt sick, wondering if this was where she and Costia had gotten attacked, but then she remembered that Lexa had said they were walking down a street. “The tree?” She ended up asking carefully, deciding that asking was better than pretending.
“This is my favourite tree,” Lexa explained, tracing patterns on the back of Clarke’s hand, which caused goose bumps to erupt all over her body, “it’s the tree I sat underneath admiring my timer when I first got it, where I sat and decided to get my life together.”
Lexa turned her hand around, showing the small zero on her wrist. Clarke looked down at it, brushing her thumb over the number and only looked up when she heard Lexa’s sharp intake of breath. Clarke looked into those expressive green eyes and saw the nerves there. Lexa was clearly trying to suppress her anxiety, her breathing was fast and Clarke was sure it wasn’t just from her touching the other girl. That’s when she remembered Lexa telling about this tree. Lexa was scared, she was showing Clarke part of her past, leaving herself vulnerable. She had told Clarke stuff by letter, but this was the next step, sharing in real life. Lexa was opening up and she had to be scared as fuck.
Clarke felt the overwhelming need to reassure this beautiful girl next to her; she lifter Lexa’s wrist to her face and pressed a soft kiss to the timer, causing Lexa to tense and gasp out her name. “Clarke,”
“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay.” Clarke whispered back, kissing the timer again, looking up into Lexa’s eyes with a smile. “Thank you for showing me this place,” She turned around, pressing her lips to the bark, “and thank you for looking out for her,” she said to the tree, half serious, half joking. It worked though, because she heard the girl next to her let out a chuckle.
“Did you just thank a tree? I didn’t know you were a treehugger.”
“Oh yeah,” Clarke turned and grinned at the other girl, glad that she still seemed to be in a good mood, “big time, that bark has such nice texture.”
“I know what you mean, that really is a lovely texture,” Lexa agreed, and it was just too easy.
“Is that your way of telling me you like it rough?” Clarke fluttered her lids in an over the top way. She couldn’t help but revel in the blush that appeared on Lexa’s cheek, her adorable awkward cinnamon roll, she wanted to clutch her heart and swoon a little. But then she saw that amazing jawline tense and though the blush was still there Lexa’s expression clearly said she was up to the challenge.
“Only one way for you to find out.” And Lexa copied the fluttering eyelid move, only fuck it was unfair because it was so much more effective on her. How could it not? Lexa had those long lashes and her flushed cheeks made her green eyes stand out even more, and instead of Lexa Clarke found herself being the flustered one.
“I…” Clarke cleared her throat, “I guess so,” she replied lamely, all too aware that her side was touching Lexa’s side, she could practically feel the warmth seeping into her skin. At that Lexa smirked slightly and leaned back against the tree. Still holding each other’s hand, they lapsed into a comfortable silence.
After a while she looked at Clarke’s watch. “Is it okay if we stay a little longer?”
“Yes of course,” Clarke smiled, she had felt comfortable, leaving hadn’t really been on her mind yet, nothing had really been on her mind, or maybe too much she wasn’t quite sure, but it had been nice all the same.
“Good because in about fifteen minutes there will be fireworks, if you’d like to stay and watch?” Lexa looked at Clarke questioningly and Clarke just grinned from ear to ear before laying her head down on Lexa’s shoulder.
“I love fireworks.”
***
“Thank you for tonight, Lexa, I had a great time.”
For all her confidence and teasing earlier that night Clarke felt strangely bashful.
“Yeah?” Lexa’s smile at her words was so happy and genuinely excited and relieved that Clarke couldn’t help but smile widely in return and not frantically, so touched by the other girl’s happiness.
“Yeah,” she confirmed. It seemed as if that single word gave Lexa the confidence to step closer, pressing her lips to Clarke’s. This kiss was soft and sweet, Lexa had rested her hands on Clarke’s hips, keeping her close without pressing them together.
Clarke smiled against Lexa’s lips, she loved this, she loved everything about this date. She loved the date itself, she loved the jokes they had made, the laughs they had shared, the fireworks, the fact that Lexa chose to open up to her, she loved this kiss. Hell, she loved Lexa. Her eyes widened at the thought, but at the same time a warmth was spreading through her chest. Her thoughts were stopped by Lexa though before she could dwell on it.
Lexa had apparently noticed that she wasn’t completely present and had chosen that moment to open her mouth and nip at Clarke’s bottom lip, taking advantage of the soft gasp to slide her tongue in after. Clarke let out a soft sigh, stumbling back a little to lean against the wall, wrapping her arms around Lexa’s neck pulling the girl closer. She moved her tongue with Lexa’s, she wanted this to last forever. How could just simply kissing feel this good? The way Lexa had gripped her hips and the things she did with her mouth, Clarke felt the blood rushing through her veins and she couldn’t suppress the soft moan. She pulled away from Lexa’s lip, pressing a soft kiss to those plump lips when she saw Lexa’s pout, to soften the blow. She looped a small curl of brown hair behind Lexa’s ear as she stared dreamily in those green eyes.
“Do you want to come up for a cup of coffee?” She asked, brushing the tip of her nose across Lexa’s, grinning when she felt the other girl nod. She moved her arms from behind Lexa’s neck, grabbing her hand and pulling her inside.
Lexa looked around Clarke’s apartment; she had no idea what she had expected Clarke’s apartment to be like, but she had never expected things to be so utterly Clarke. She couldn’t have thought of a place where Clarke would fit better. There was art everywhere on the walls, one piece more beautiful than the next. Then she noticed a corner where a lot of paintings were sitting on the floor. Lexa bent down, looking at the paintings and sketches, they were beautiful.
“Clarke,” she turned around, holding a painting of a misty forest, the edges being shaped as a female figure, to her chest, “why are these masterpieces on the ground?” She just couldn’t comprehend, and glared at Clarke when she heard the girl snort.
“They are hardly masterpieces, Lexa. And I just don’t have any room on the walls here, as you can see.” Clarke lifted her arms and gestured to her walls, causing Lexa to take in all the art again, stunned into silence for a second, before turning back.
“But here, on the ground, what if there was a leak or someone knocks them over? They’d be ruined.” Lexa frowned at the thought of any of this getting damaged.
“It’s fine, Lex, it’s not like I’d be able to sell them anyway, it’s no big deal, they’re just practice runs, bad ones at that.”
At those words Lexa felt a little offended, she got up, putting a hand on her hip as she held in her other hand. “Do you really think I only said this because of money?”
Lexa shook her head, looking down at the painting in her hand, tracing out the bark of a tree, feeling the texture of the paint under her fingers. “These paintings are beautiful, they’re special, Clarke, all of them. They are special because you made them, and because they’re beautiful. I really do think they’re masterpieces, each and every one of them.”
She looked up at Clarke, who had fallen silent and was looking at her with something Lexa couldn’t really define. It was clearly an intense emotion, but whether it was good or bad Lexa wasn’t sure. She hoped it was good of course, she had thought it was good at first, but the longer Clarke stayed silent the less sure she got. She was pulled away from her doubts by Clarke’s shaky voice.
“Do you really think that?”
Lexa looked back up at Clarke nodding solemnly, “yes.”
At those words Clarke strode towards her, almost flinging herself in Lexa’s arms, who caught Clarke even though she was surprised by the sudden hug. Lexa wrapped her arms around Clarke after carefully putting the painting down, nuzzling her face into the blonde’s hair, just holding her. She wasn’t exactly sure why Clarke had reacted the way she did, or what it meant, but for now she felt like Clarke needed this, and for Lexa herself this was enough, just holding her. Eventually Clarke pulled out of the hug enough to look at Lexa.
Lexa’s smile fell as she noticed how watery her eyes were. She cupped Clarke’s face, her thumbs trying to brush her cheeks soothingly. “Clarke?” She croaked out, begging the girl to tell her what was wrong, how she could fix it.
“I believe you.” Clarke laughed as a tear rolled down her cheek, she lifted her hand to wipe it, but Lexa had already done so. “You like my work; you care about it.” Clarke said as an explanation, but Lexa was still confused.
“Of course I do,” she said confused as to why this would make the other girl cry.
“People usually don’t, not like that,” Clarke lifted her hands to silence Lexa when the other girl wanted to interrupt, “I’m not saying that people don’t think it’s good, or that I think I’m not. I know my artwork is decent, sometimes even good and people appreciate it. But they don’t… to me each of these pieces is a part of me. It’s why I prefer to have them here, with me, on the ground rather than for example at my mom’s house. But you, it matters to you.”
At that Lexa smiled softly, gave a small nod and pressed a soft kiss to the other girl’s lips. They stayed hugged together for a little. That’s when Lexa realised she had meant to ask Clarke something but hadn’t gotten to it yet.
“Earlier when I was about to ring your doorbell how did you know to open the door?” She was genuinely curious. Had she really been that late?
Clarke let out a soft chuckle. “Raven called me, she told me you had called her and you were feeling a little nervous and to give you 2 more minutes, but if the bell hadn’t rung by then I should just go out and greet you, or else you’d bolt.”
Lexa scoffed, but before she could say anything Clarke pressed a kiss to her cheek before untangling herself from Lexa’s grip. “Don’t worry, I know you wouldn’t have left, but the thought of prolonging the process of you torturing yourself was unbearable.” She smiled as she headed to the kitchen. Lexa turned around and continued examining the paintings.
“Do you want some coffee or?”
Lexa felt her throat dry out, she had assumed that the question about coffee earlier downstairs had been Clarke’s indirect way to ask her to spend the night, but now she was faced with the fact that clearly she had been wrong. She debated whether she would say anything, explain what she had thought and apologise. But then she looked back at Clarke’s mischievous eyes, and decided against it, chances were that Clarke was teasing. She walked closer, raising a brow. “or?”
Clarke shrugged and bit down at her bottom lip, keeping that damned smirk on her lips. “Tea maybe, hot chocolate?”
That confirmed it, Clarke was definitely teasing and Lexa wasn’t going to back down, two could play this game. “What if I want something even hotter that isn’t a beverage?” She wrapped her arms around Clarke, her hands resting on the small of the other girl’s back.
“I can’t believe you’re still hungry.” Clarke grinned as she wrapped her arms around Lexa’s neck. Lexa couldn’t help but feel elated at the way Clarke draped herself against her, it gave Lexa the confidence to continue their banter. She moved her hands a little lower and squeezed her ass.
“Trust me I always have an appetite for what I am thinking of right now.”
She was about to give herself a compliment for being so incredibly smooth (Raven would be proud), when she heard a scandalised gasp. She flushed, stammering out an apology only to be silenced by Clarke’s lips. Lexa froze, she was entirely unsure how to handle this situation, on the one hand Clarke’s gasp had definitely suggested Lexa had crossed a line, but Clarke’s lips on hers suggested something else entirely.
After a few seconds Clarke seemed to notice the lack of response and pulled away, chuckling softly as she twirled those small, soft curls at the nape of Lexa’s neck. Lexa just had to close her eyes in enjoyment of that touch, it always relaxed her.
“How can you switch from awkward cinnamon roll to cocky commander and back in the span of a few seconds?” Clarke’s voice was soft and full of wonder. It made Lexa open her eyes and look at the blonde, shrugging. “I don’t know, nerves I guess.”
“And what are you nervous about? Because if I am guessing right you have nothing to be nervous about” Clarke’s voice had regained her teasing tone, and she raised her brow in a challenging manner when Lexa searched her eyes to try and see if Clarke was actually saying what she thought she was.
Deciding to throw caution to the wind she moved forward, pressing her mouth to Clarke’s in a hungry kiss, pushing the girl backwards and pressing her against the wall. Clarke’s answering groan when she parted her lips was all the confirmation Lexa actually needed.
Lexa had one hand next to Clarke’s face, leaning against the wall, the other one cupped the blonde’s ass, keeping her trapped between the wall and Lexa herself. She set out a teasing pace in her discovery of what Clarke liked best in their kisses. She slowly traced out Clarke’s teeth, moving her tongue across the roof of her mouth.
Lexa smiled into their kiss when she felt Clarke wrap her arms around her neck, pulling her closer. She pressed her tongue against Clarke’s before retreating slightly, letting Clarke seek her out again, sucking on her tongue when she had managed to do so. Soft whimpers only managed to spur on Lexa more, and before she fully realised what she was doing she had her leg pressed between Clarke’s thighs.
This movement caused Clarke to pull away from her lips to let out a guttural “Fuck,” while she dug her nails in the back of Lexa’s neck. Lexa only took this as encouragement, moving her lips from Clarke’s lips to her neck, alternating between open-mouthed kisses, sucking the skin and blowing on the wet patches of skin; causing Clarke to shiver and roll her hips subconsciously against Lexa’s thigh. Feeling the movements of Clarke’s hips Lexa decided to slow down for a second, to make absolutely sure this was what they both wanted. She moved her lips to Clarke’s ear, pulling her body a little away from the girl to make sure they were both somewhat level-headed. “Clarke,” she whispered, “do you want this?”
However instead of making Clarke level-headed the lack of contact seemed to make her go crazy, “Lexa,” she whined, her head still slightly lolled to the side from when Lexa was kissing her neck, pushing her hips forward to find Lexa’s while her hands moved from her neck to her hips, pulling the other girl against her again, “don’t make me beg.”
“Never,” Lexa reassured her, pressing forward, kissing the blonde hungrily, teeth clashing, tongues moving hungrily against each other. Lexa’s hands moved of their own accord towards Clarke’s ass, sneaking underneath the hem of her dress, grabbing the flesh to push it against her harder. And it felt so good, Clarke’s skin was warm and soft, Lexa still couldn’t quite believe that this was actually allowed. When she realised that this was not how she wanted this to go. Her first time with Clarke would not consist of Lexa fucking her against a wall, Clarke deserved more. “Clarke, bed.” Lexa managed to pant into their kiss as she squeezed her ass once before letting go and pulling away.
Clarke grabbed her hand, dragging her towards the door of her bedroom, and Lexa followed all too happily. Clarke turned around at the foot of her bed, looking at Lexa with a grin on her face that the brunette returned happily. She stepped even closer, wrapping her arms around Clarke’s torso, her hand resting on the zipper, she glanced at the other girl’s face to see if this was okay. As soon as Clarke dipped her head Lexa lowered the zipper down all the way to the small of her back. She stepped away so that the dress could fall and pool around Clarke’s feet.
Lexa’s gaze slowly moved from the dress on the floor to those shapely legs all the way up to the Clarke’s face. She could see the nerves present on her face, so she said all she could think of to say. “Clarke, you’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” This caused a slight blush to stain Clarke’s cheeks, but the smile that graced her face was so much more powerful.
Lexa fell to her knees before Clarke, looking up to connect her own gaze with Clarke’s before she looked down to her feet. One hand wrapped around Clarke’s calf, gently lifting it as she took her shoe off, leaning forward to press a kiss on said calf, before doing the same thing to the other foot. She set up a little straighter, pressing a kiss to each knee and then to each upper leg, letting her hands follow her lips.
She was sitting up on her knees now, her face level with Clarke’s waist, wrapping her arms around it as she nuzzled herself against Clarke’s lower belly for a second. Lexa pulled away slightly letting her lips brush very lightly over the blonde’s skin, tracing the hem of her underwear. She looked up when she heard Clarke gasp, and felt hands landing in her hair. Clarke was looking down to her, her mouth open as her breathing started to speed up a little. Lexa kept those blue eyes locked with her own as she moved her lips back to Clarke’s lower belly, she pressed a kiss to the edge of her underwear, moving a little lower to press a soft kiss to her covered vulva, before dragging her tongue over the skin of her stomach towards her bellybutton, simply teasing the other girl slightly by pressing her tongue flat against it.
Lexa kept pressing kissed as her hands slowly moved upwards on her stomach until they reached Clarke’s lower ribs, that’s when she slowly got up, continuing the trail of kisses upwards over the valley between her breasts. Her hands had caught up again and soon enough she had a boob in each hand, gently squeezing them as her kisses travelled along Clarke’s collarbone and up her neck. She loved the feeling of Clarke’s nipples through the fabric in her hands, the sensation caused by Clarke’s breath against her own skin, and the taste of the blonde’s skin. All of it was making her feel a little lightheaded.
“You’re so beautiful, Clarke,” Lexa breathed against the blonde’s skin, “you have no idea.” She tightened the grip on Clarke’s boobs a little, causing her to gasp. She grinned and moved her hands from the front to the back, letting out a soft chuckle when Clarke started to protest. “Patience is a virtue.” She smirked.
At that Clarke raised an eyebrow, pulling a little away from her grasp. “Oh really?” The effect was slightly ruined though by the breathiness of her voice so Lexa couldn’t help but smirk as she nodded.
At that Clarke narrowed her eyes, moving her hands backwards to unclasp her bra before letting it glide down her arms to the ground. After that she simply turned around and crawled up the bed, settling herself against the headboard. Her eyes sought out Lexa’s, who was left staring at the almost naked blonde, drinking in her beaty.
“I have never been one for virtues luckily,” Clarke grinned as she moved her hand down the front of her underwear, closing her eyes and letting out an extremely salacious groan. Lexa clenched her thighs as she took in the image before her, shutting her eyes for a second and digging her teeth into her bottom lip. She didn’t think she had ever seen anything so sexy as Clarke right now. Determined not to be outdone by Clarke though, she opened her eyes, asking huskily. “Does that feel good?”
Clarke answered by nodding frantically and letting out a soft moan as she shifted her hips slightly. “So good, but only because I’m pretending it’s you.”
At those words it was Lexa’s turn to gasp. Clarke pulled her fingers away, lifting them and making the come hither move to Lexa with a grin. Who was on her hands and knees on the bed within seconds, only to realise that what she was trying to do was impossible with her dress on. “One second,” she told the blonde, who watched her with amusement as she got up, took the hem of her dress and simply lifted it off her before tossing it to the ground carelessly.
“No bra? Well well well,” she saw the grin on Clarke’s face and the raised eyebrow so she just shrugged and stuck out her tongue.
“Now where were we?” Lexa grinned as she pounced on the bed, crawling towards Clarke until she was hovering over her. “Oh right, I think you were pretending these fingers were mine, right?”
Clarke nodded, and Lexa lifted her hand, seeing them glisten as she took them in her mouth, sucking them clean, tasting Clarke for the first time. She moaned at the taste, sucking a little harder, ending with a soft bite before pulling away. Apparently Clarke’s fingers had a direct connection to the blonde’s groin because she bucked her hips up and let out a groan that caused hot pleasure and lust to streak through Lexa’s body. She had no idea what she had done to be allowed this moment, but she was so thankful. She couldn’t think of a better place to be right now.
Lexa shifted herself on top of Clarke so that her leg was once again between the blonde’s thighs. She pressed down and shifted slightly while her mouth found Clarke’s again. This kiss was different from all the ones they had shared before. It was hot, filled with pants and groans from both girls, as they grinded against each other. The feeling of skin-to-skin contact everywhere felt amazing. She was as close physically to Clarke as she could get and she revelled in it, the way their breasts were pressed together, feeling the stiff buds rub against her own, the slight sheen of sweat that had settled on their bodies.
Lexa couldn’t believe how worked up she was already. She felt like every nerve ending on fire, but in a good way; Clarke’s body against hers felt so incredibly good she could hardly describe it, even Clarke’s thighs against her felt better than she ever could have imagined it ever feeling. Every time Clarke’s hips moved up she pressed down harder, enjoying the gasps and groans the blonde let out. The fact that Clarke seemed to enjoy her touch as much as she was hers made the whole thing even better.
Clarke had her hands clutched in Lexa’s hair, pulling on it hard enough for Lexa to let out a soft hiss, opening her eyes in question as she stilled on top of Clarke. Both girls stared at each other, panting as they tried to catch their breath. At first Lexa had wondered if Clarke wanted to stop, but the lustful haze that she saw in those blue eyes made her move back to press her lips on the other girl’s again.
However, Clarke moved her head a little to the side, arching her back, “Lexa please, I need, I need…” Clarke’s voice was husky with need.
Lexa opened her eyes, letting out a soft groan of her own, staring down at the blonde with awe for a second, feeling desire pool in her lower belly at the sound of Clarke’s voice. Shifting her body a little to the side, but keeping the blonde’s thigh trapped between her own legs, Lexa let her hand travel over Clarke’s chest down to the hem of her underwear. She moved her lips to Clarke’s ear, whispering in her ear “shhh, I know what you need.”
Lexa slipped her hand over the damp fabric, enjoying the way Clarke’s panting breath sped up against the skin of her neck. She could feel the heat through Clarke’s underwear, and pulled her underwear off.
Lexa placed her hand on Clarke’s pubic bone, gently pushing her hips back down, before slowly moving lower. She let out a groan against Clarke’s skin when she ran her fingers through folds; Clarke was so wet. She explored every part with her fingers, focussing on the noises Clarke made to find out what she liked best. She enjoyed each and every sound and she relished the warmth and the slick feeling around her fingers. She circled Clarke’s clit, smiling against Clarke’s skin when she felt Clarke wrap her arms back around her neck and pull Lexa’s face tighter against her neck and moving her hips up for more contact.
“Does it feel good?” Lexa whispered in Clarke’s ear before, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the skin just below her ear, tasting the slight saltiness that had settled on Clarke’s skin. She moved her fingers to brush over Clarke’s clit very lightly, barely touching it, testing to see how sensitive she was, not wanting to hurt the other girl with overstimulation.
“Fuck, Lex” was all Clarke managed to get out with a bunch of moans and groans, clutching Lexa’s neck and rolling her hips, “more, please.”
That was Lexa’s cue to increase the pressure of her fingers a little. She immediately noticed the effects; Clarke arched her back, pushing herself harder against Lexa’s fingers, her breathing grew more laboured. Lexa felt shivers run down her back at the fact that she was the one to make Clarke feel all these things. She moved her fingers down, away from that bundle of nerves, soothing the disappointed groan with a love bite to the pulse point on Clarke’s neck.
Lexa’s fingers reached their destination and she slowly pressed two fingers inside. She kept the pace relatively slow, twisting her hand so her thumb could brush over her clit, groaning when Clarke started bucking her hips upward forcing her fingers deeper. She got the hint and speed up her movements a little, and then a little more when Clarke let out a string of whimpers about just how close she was. She could feel Clarke starting to tense up, so she bent her fingers, stroking the front wall.
That motion was what sent Clarke over the edge, with a loud yelp she threw her head back, arching her back and her thighs clamped down on Lexa’s hand, keeping her trapped. Lexa could feel Clarke’s body pulse around her fingers. She kept moving her fingers, but at a slow pace, gently circle her clit with her thumb until Clarke started to let out a soft whimpering noise, squirming in overstimulation. That was when Clarke also opened her legs, letting Lexa pull her hand back.
It was also the moment where Lexa herself became aware about how close she already was. Touching Clarke and having the girl writhing underneath her had turned her on so much. She didn’t want to push Clarke though so she stayed perfectly still, trying to force her arousal down to an appropriate level. She let the blonde catch her breath while she pressed soft kisses along her collarbone and up her neck, blushing slightly when she noticed the already darkening spots along her neck.
“Hmmm,” after a few minutes Clarke let out a satisfied hum, she shifted her body to look Lexa in the eye, but the movement caused her thigh to brush against Lexa’s front and Lexa bit down on her bottom lip to suppress a moan, but she wasn’t fully successful. Lexa worried that Clarke might be upset when she felt Clarke move a little more underneath her, thinking that the blonde tried to squirm away from her. She quickly rolled off Clarke, unable to look her in the eye, a strange mix of embarrassment and need rushing through her.
Lexa had her eyes closed so she was taken by surprise when she felt Clarke’s curls brush her face. Her eyes opened and she couldn’t help but gasp at what she saw. Clarke was leaning over her, watching her with an intense gaze that didn’t do anything to help the throbbing feeling that had settled between her thighs. She had to close her eyes, shutting them she squirmed underneath Clarke, trying to keep quiet as she could feel her arms brush the naked skin of the girl above her. She moved her hands down, balling them into fists and pressing them between her legs. She clamped her thighs around them, trying to keep herself from unravelling completely.
All thought of that was out the window when she heard a soft tutting sound, followed by Clarke’s hands tugging on her underwear, forcing her to open her thighs. She felt Clarke moving her hand up from her feet to the apex of her thighs, quickly dipping in before moving along. Even that short, barely there, touch was enough to coax a stream of whimpers from Lexa’s mouth. Which caused Clarke to loom back over her, licking from her collarbone all the way up to her neck, before whispering in her ear. “I’ll take care of you, baby.”
Those words caused Lexa’s breathing to speed up, unable to suppress a whimper her eyes searched for Clarke, finding those blue eyes looking at her with so much kindness, happiness and hunger that caused her to nod, giving herself over completely to Clarke’s touch.
That was the moment Clarke lowered herself on top of Lexa, pressing her legs between her thigh like Lexa had done with her moments ago. She shifted experimentally, and Lexa couldn’t stop herself from gripping Clarke’s butt, digging her nails into the blonde’s skin in a desperate attempt to get more contact, to get more friction. Clarke seemed to get the message because she pressed down harder, grinding and shifting in the most delicious way.
“Fuck, Clarke, I’m so close,” Lexa groaned as her breathing sped up further, and she closed her eyes to focus on the amazing feeling; it felt so good. And she didn’t know if it was because Clarke was just that good or because it simply was Clarke; and she didn’t care what the reason was, because it just felt that good. Her nerve-endings were in overdrive, it was like she could feel every separate spot where Clarke’s skin touched hers, and it was so incredibly hot.
Lexa opened her eyes in surprise when she felt Clarke taking one of her hands from her cheek, pressing a kiss on it before intertwining their fingers and resting it beside Lexa’s head. It was all far too much to handle; Clarke’s every touch and movement was done with such gentleness, Lexa was feeling overwhelmed by both pleasure and emotion. The mix of the two forced Lexa over the edge; she let out a loud moan and a string of whimpers. White hot pleasure coursed through her entire body, culminating in that spot between her thighs; it was too intense, she couldn’t bare lying down and almost curled in upon herself, tightening her grip on Clarke’s hand.
She didn’t even realise she was crying until she felt a soft lips kissing them off her cheeks. Clarke had crawled off her, lying down she pulled Lexa against and half on top of her, trying to soothe the girl, gently rubbing her bare back with the arm that was wrapped around her. “Shhh, baby,” she whispered before pressing a kiss on the top of her head, “it’s okay.”
Lexa shivered at those words and the touches. Clarke seemed to feel it because she stopped, but that was the last thing Lexa wanted. “Please don’t stop,” she croaked out, taking the hand that was still intertwined with Clarke’s and resting it on the blonde’s stomach, gently brushing a soft patch of skin there, “it’s nice.”
She felt Clarke nod and continue the movements. She let out a soft sigh, snuggling closer, pressing her face into the warmth of Clarke’s skin. They stayed like this for a bit, until Clarke broke the silence.
“What was with the waterworks? Was I that bad?” Clarke’s tone was light and teasing, but there was something there that made Lexa open her eyes and look up at Clarke. Blue eyes met her own green ones and she thought she saw a hint of insecurity and nerves there.
Lexa quickly shook her head, she pressed a kiss to Clarke’s lips with a smile before lying back. She lifted their intertwined hands in the air a little, turning them around curious to see if it would look just as good and natural as it should be as it felt.
“Well?” Clarke prompted gently, but Lexa just shrugged, worried that she wouldn’t be able to properly express what had happened. What was she supposed to say? You made me feel loved and it was just too overwhelming of a feeling. Lexa wanted to laugh at herself, way to get a girl to run for the hills, telling her that. No thank you, that’s when Lexa thought of something else to say, something that was equally true.
“You’re a sex goddess, it just felt that good.” Which definitely was not a lie. She looked up at Clarke’s face, resting their intertwined hands on the blonde’s chest. “Where did you get your female sexpertise?”
Lexa narrowed her eyes when she saw a faint blush creep up on Clarke’s cheeks, forcing herself to focus her attention on that rather than what happened a few moments ago. She crawled up so she could get closer to that beautiful, blushing face. Pressing soft kisses everywhere she tried to persuade Clarke. “Tell me,” she insisted, “I won’t get mad.” Clarke’s reaction made her suspect she had picked it up from a hook up, probably during the three months she had been gone. Even though it did sting a little Lexa knew she couldn’t blame Clarke, and she didn’t. They had definitely not been together, even if things hadn’t ended with that fight, they had been nothing really, not even friends. No, but you were soulmates, still are. A voice in her head mocked, but she chose to ignore that.
“Lexa,” Clarke admonished though, pulling Lexa from her own thoughts. “It’s nothing like that. You are my first girl loving experience.” She let out a slight huff, obviously insulted.
“I’m sorry, babe,” Lexa pressed a string of soft kisses to Clarke’s lips in quick succession to appease both the blonde and herself, “I didn’t mean it like that. I am just so damn impressed by your skill.”
She pulled away to see a goofy grin on Clarke’s lips. “I might have been doing my research to make sure I would at least be able to make you feel somewhat good.”
“You did research?” Lexa tried to sound teasing, but she couldn’t keep the awe out of her voice. Clarke had thought about them together before, and she had been concerned enough with how it would be for Lexa that she had actually studied up on it. She let out a happy sigh, resting her head back on Clarke’s chest. “That’s weirdly romantic.” She grinned.
|
Old Friend
Princess Weiss raised one eyebrow. “Why are we visiting a tortoise?” She paused. “And where exactly are we?”
Death smiled and patted the massive tortoise on the shell. “This old guy is a good friend of mine. I’ve known him since he was this big.” She gestured at a height somewhere around her ankles. “As for where we are, it’s not anywhere your people have discovered yet. In fact, we’re about as far from civilisation as it’s possible to be.”
“Right…” Weiss nodded slowly. “So, again, why are we visiting this tortoise?”
“Like I said, he’s a good friend of mine.” Death grinned. “How old do you think he is?”
“Hmm…” Weiss pondered the question. She knew Death well enough to understand that she wouldn’t be asking the question if the answer was obvious. The hint of a mischievous smile tugging at her lips also gave the game away. “A hundred?”
“Nice try, but this guy turned two hundred twenty-five last Tuesday. That makes him the oldest non-divine tortoise ever.” Death gave the tortoise’s shell another fond pat before her expression fell. “But today’s the day.”
“The day? Oh.” Weiss bit her lip. “You mean…”
“Yep. I remember the day he hatched. There were fifteen of them in that clutch of eggs. Five didn’t make it past a week. Another five of them didn’t make it through a year. It was a lean year, and there wasn’t a lot of food to go around. The other five all made it to at least fifty, but this guy was the only one to crack a hundred. The other gods were all betting against him making it to two hundred, but I knew he’d make it. He’s a tough, old guy, a real survivor.”
Weiss sat down on a rock next to the tortoise. He didn’t seem to be bothered by them. If anything, he seemed to recognise Death. How many times had she visited? “That’s admirable, I think, to last that long against the odds.”
“I was kind of worried it might be a predator that did him in. He’s too old now to put up too much of a fight, but that’s not it.” Death sat down beside Weiss. “He’s just about done eating, and in a few minutes, he’ll go have a nap under that tree there, and he won’t ever wake up. It’ll be quick and peaceful, and he’ll wake up in the afterlife for tortoises.”
“There’s an afterlife for tortoises?” Weiss asked incredulously. “You can’t be serious.”
“There’s an afterlife for people, Weiss. Why not for tortoises?” Death gestured at the sky. “It’s a wonderful place. There are no predators, and there’s plenty to eat and drink. There are lots of other nice tortoises, and he’ll get to meet all his old friends again.”
“You have to be making that up.” Weiss tried to picture a part of the afterlife full of tortoises and failed miserably. “Does that mean there’s places in the afterlife for rabbits, wolves, sheep, dogs, cats, and all the other animals?”
“You’d be surprised, and it does vary. Like people, deserving animals go to what they think of as paradise. For a guy like our friend here, that’s pretty much somewhere free of predators and full of food and drink. For a pet, well, most of them ask to get sent to the afterlife where their owners are.”
Weiss’s expression softened. “That sounds pretty nice, actually. I can imagine a lot of cats and dogs might ask to be with their owners, and I know a lot of owners would ask for their pets to be with them wherever people go.”
“It’s tricky with pets,” Death continued. “The Cycle of Death and Rebirth means that nobody except the truly damned stays dead forever. Everyone gets reborn. But kindred spirits have a way of finding each other. It’s why sometimes people get another dog years after their first one died and it feels kind of like the original one. It’s because it is the same dog, the same soul, anyway, even if the body is different.”
“That’s…” Weiss would always deny that her voice got a bit rough. It just had to be the dry air here. “That’s really sweet.”
“Love finds a way,” Death murmured. The tortoise had gone to nap under the tree, and she got up to sit down beside it. “He had a good run, this guy. It seemed like a shame for him to pass away on his own, so I thought I’d keep him company.” She patted the tortoise’s shell again and watched as his breathing slowed and then finally stopped. “And there he goes. Think of how much he must have seen, Weiss. Two hundred twenty-five years.”
Despite not having known a thing about the tortoise until a few minutes ago, Weiss couldn’t help but admire the reptile for lasting so long. Two hundred twenty-five years… that was three times the length of an average human’s life. It also seemed wrong to just leave him under the tree where scavengers could get at him.
“We should bury him,” Weiss said at last. “We could give him a headstone too.”
Death smiled. “Yeah… that sounds nice.”
As Death gestured and created a hole under the tree, Weiss asked, “What name should we put on the headstone?”
“He always seemed like a Gary to me,” Death said. “I mean… we could also put Big Shell, which is what the other tortoises called him, but I think he would have gone by Gary if he could have picked his own name.”
“Gary, huh?” Weiss chuckled. “Gary ‘Big Shell’ Tortoise. How’s that?”
“That sounds great.”
X X X
One of the great unsolved mysteries of history is the discovery of an elaborate grave and headstone beneath a tree on the Palagos Islands. These remote islands are more than three thousand miles from any major landmass, and they are on the complete opposite side of the world from the kingdom of Atlas. Nevertheless, the writing on the headstone is unmistakably that of Classical Atlas. Further confusing scholars is that fact that a tortoise, apparently named Gary ‘Big Shell’ Tortoise, is buried there. If the grave is not a hoax, and there are many who believe it might be, then somehow someone from Atlas got to the Palagos Islands and saw fit to bury a tortoise.
Who was responsible, and why did they go to such efforts to bury a tortoise? We may never know the truth, and perhaps the only ones who do are the gods themselves. It is notable, though, that Death has been sighted visiting the grave more than once. Did she know the tortoise, or did she perhaps know the person responsible for making the grave?
– Extract from Historical Oddities: Odds and Ends From Across the World
|
JOHN
Shepard took contact with Anderson to get an update on Earth.
“Shepard,” he addressed him on the hologram. “Good to see you in one piece, son. So I imagine by now you’ve wiped the galaxy clean of reapers and we can all come up for air?”
He exhaled. “Not quite,” he said, leaning in towards the controls. “There have been a few complications.”
“Aren’t there always. Hackett filled me in on the Crucible. Sounds like you’ve got some knots to untangle.”
“I’m just glad I could take care of one of them for you. I gather you and Kahlee Sanders were close.”
He’d come up with a few theories after rescuing a group of students on Grissom Academy where a woman named Kahlee Sanders had mentioned Anderson. She spoke highly of him.
“I owe you for that one, Shepard. Kahlee and I met almost twenty years ago. We even had a run-in with Saren in his early days. She and I were... more than close.”
“She misses you.”
“I miss her,” he replied. “End of the world has a way of reminding you what you forgot to do. Maybe when this war’s over, Kahlee and I will do something about that.”
“You’ll see her soon.”
“I can hope. But you’ve got a bigger problem right now -- like a galaxy full of scared bureaucrats.”
A lot of cities around the world had stopped checking in. They were both aware of what they were in for, but the shock hadn’t worn off yet for the civilians back on Earth. Anderson had caught a shuttle out of Vancouver as they were running from foxhole to foxhole. However, the reapers focused on the big cities, giving them room to maneuver.
“I don’t know how we’ll win this yet, but we will. Even if it kills me.”
“Well, you’ve already died once and that didn’t slow you down. But let’s not tempt fate.” He seemed to think it over. “You know, son -- this takes me back to the day when you first signed up. You’ve come a long way since then.”
Shepard knew things would’ve been very different if it wasn’t for Anderson.
“That’s thanks to you. Hell, I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t found me in that coffee shop. The Reds put quite the bounty on my head. Taking that into context, I’d probably not be around at all.”
“You’re less of a jackass, at least. I’m glad something good came out of it. I told you that you would thank me one day,” he replied, and Shepard tilted his head down with a subtle smile. He remembered how much of a disrespectful brat he was. Anderson’s tone turned lighter before he continued. “Keep yourself safe, Shepard.”
“You too, sir.”
He had earlier ran into Mordin who had finished what he needed to create the cure for the genophage using a sample from Eve, a krogan female they rescued, before heading to Tuchanka. They spread the cure throughout a huge monument called The Shroud. It came at a steep cost as Mordin needed to manually take care of it. He sacrificed himself to save the krogans, stating that, “It had to be me. Someone else might’ve gotten it wrong.” Wrex would honor his firstborn in Mordin’s name, as he and Eve -- her true name being Bakara -- were now both part of clan Urdnot.
Garrus approached him after receiving confirmed help from the Primarch of Palaven.
“I’ll start managing turian support right away, Shepard. You must be exhausted. Mordin dying... it can’t be easy.”
Scowling, he said, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
“We both know you need a clear head to win this war,” he replied, seeming somewhat amused at his response. “There’s no room for mistakes here. You should catch some shut-eye. I’ll make sure Joker doesn’t launch any suicide missions.”
He didn’t really want to bother, as he was convinced that he wouldn’t be able to sleep either way, aware that every attempt ended in restless frustration because of his nightmares. Nevertheless, he also knew that his stubbornness could cost them greatly. Shepard exhaled and pushed himself away from the war table.
“Anything happens, you let me know.”
He retreated to the captain’s cabin. The damn recurring dream was back. The kid, the shadows, and the voices haunting him. Liara was once again his saving grace as she stopped by. Together they remembered Ash and her sacrifice back on Virmire. Meanwhile, the reapers were moving with the obvious intent of attacking Thessia, the homeworld of the asari.
KAIDAN
Kaidan hurried after the doctor as they headed for the reception.
“I’m fine, Doc. I have to get back into the fight. Hell, I need to get back in. I’m an Alliance soldier and I refuse to just sit back when I should do my job.” She opened her mouth but he cut her off. “I’ll keep the biotics offline for the time being, I promise.”
The doctor skidded in a halt.
“You have to be the most stubborn patient I have ever had in this facility.” She looked over her shoulder to see the sheepish smile form on Kaidan’s lips before she exhaled. “Fine. Okay. I’ll have the release papers filed. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Thanks, I -” It wasn’t before then he noticed that Huerta Memorial was literally empty of people. The doctor seemed to notice as well. She blinked and let her eyes wander the room. “Is it always this, uh... empty? I mean, that’s a good thing, right? Fewer patients and all. I assumed the staff would be here, though.”
Kaidan frowned when he gleamed a skycar, as well as a gunship, hover behind the thin layer of glass separating them. He could barely make out the Cerberus logo on the side. His eyes widened in the moment the door slid open to reveal two soldiers stepping forward. One had a rocket launcher resting on his shoulder. Kaidan draped an arm around the doctor’s waist and ducked behind the reception to counter the explosion.
“Oh my god!” she called.
Glass fragments were thrown throughout the room, one managing to slightly rift his cheek. Winching at the slight pain, he did his best to ignore it, and shielded the doctor’s body with his. His options were limited at the moment. She remained ducked when he rose up again, charging a biotic Throw, dismissing her advice of keeping them offline. It was first now he understood why. His implant flared up again and his head was starting to spin. He didn’t need this right now as he was neither armed nor equipped except his civvies.
He didn’t have time to deliver his biotics before a bullet was placed between the skycar driver’s eyes.
A biotic pulse proceeded to knock the gunship out of the sky before an explosion appeared beneath the edge. Kaidan snapped his attention in the direction it came from to see a drell loading a clip. Thane Krios. They had briefly spoken before.
“Major Alenko. Doctor. Are you unharmed?”
He had to admit that he was glad to see a friendly face after what they had just witnessed. He had a lot of questions that he needed answers to but was determined to get the doctor to safety first.
Kaidan blinked. “I, ah... Okay. Thanks. Yeah, we’re -We’re good. Considering.”
They would have to play Twenty Questions later. Kaidan reached out to help the doctor onto her feet whose glance settled at his hand before looking up. She looked as if she had been frozen in place in shock and he couldn’t exactly blame her. The doctor finally took his hand, allowing him to pull her up, before rising at the moment Thane started moving.
“Unfortunately, Cerberus has compromised most of the facility. I would suggest you follow me. This way.”
“I need to find the Council,” Kaidan said, hurrying after.
“A wise decision. The security footage informed me that they were headed for the Presidium before the gunship showed up. My apologies for it to reach you before I could take care of it. Citadel Security has already evacuated the hospital. They are safe, for now, and awaiting the situation to calm down. I would assume the two of you were not present when the evacuation took place.” His glance settled at the doctor above his shoulder as she was quick on Kaidan’s heel. The shock hadn’t worn off for her yet. Thane seemed to realize that Kaidan would be doing the talking for her. “My advice is to reunite the doctor with the others. Being out in the open like this is rather... impractical.”
She managed to reply. “Y -yes. Of course. Thank you, sir.”
“Cerberus,” Kaidan said. “What are they doing here? How could they so easily cut through Citadel Security, not to mention the defenses?”
“My knowledge is as limited as yours I’m afraid. It appears that there is a conspirator on the inside giving them access. We must find them. It is not like Cerberus to indulge in such an attack, so they must be desperate. My suspicion is that they are seeking the Council. These are grave thoughts, but it is the only way for all this to makes sense.”
Kaidan slowly nodded. “Doctor,” he said, skidding in a halt as they reached the safe zone. “Can you recall where my gear is stored?”
“It’s in that locker,” she replied, pointing at it. “Be careful out there. Both of you.”
“Have no fear. Major Alenko is a dedicated soldier from what I have heard.” Thane turned back to Kaidan and gave him a rundown on what he knew. “I have encountered at least twenty Cerberus operatives this far, and it does not seem that they are willing to give up just yet. Meanwhile, I will scout ahead and clear us a path. It is safer that way, as you have yet not recovered fully. We must get to the Council with haste. Delays could be costly. For all of us.” He fell into a pause. “The Commander spoke highly of you. I can now see why.”
“I appreciate you doing this, Thane.”
They parted ways before Kaidan geared up. Now when he couldn’t use his biotics, the firearm was obligatory, knowing he wouldn’t last very long using only his fists. He headed out of Huerta Memorial and encountered four Cerberus operatives. Thane had apparently taken care of nine of them already, as their bodies lay scattered across the floor, a reduced amount of blood as all his shots had been precise.
Grabbing a grenade from one of the fallen soldiers, Kaidan took cover behind a wall as he launched it between the Cerberus soldiers.
The headache was soon in its full force, but he didn’t exactly have the option to pick up some painkillers, either. If that wasn’t enough, he heard something like heavy machinery. He looked out the window to spot the gunship he had earlier seen. That complicated a few things. His eyes widened as it angled its guns towards him. The gunship proceeded to spray bullets in his direction, causing him to roll to the side, taking cover behind a worn wall. He was only armed with a pistol and couldn’t take this thing down without his biotics or some sort of concussive shots.
He needed to evacuate the Council. For all he knew, Cerberus had already got to them, but he wasn’t willing to give up before finding their bodies. He just needed to find an opening and wait for the gunship having to reload.
“Major Alenko,” he heard from above and tilted his head up to see Thane standing on a higher ledge. “The Council is behind the door down the hallway. I recognized five Cerberus operatives heading in that direction. I will buy you some time and hold the gunship off. Councilor Valern was not with them, so I will look for him, and inform the ships that are about to dock at the Citadel that we are under attack. I have already prepared a shuttle to evacuate the rest. Do not wait for me.”
Kaidan nodded.
Thane charged and released a biotic attack towards the gunship and gave him an opening. Kaidan reached the end of the hallway and fired a couple of bullets, bringing down two of the Cerberus soldiers that Thane had informed him about, before taking cover again. He awaited another opening and finally managed to clear the area. Keeping the pistol raised, he started backing towards the door.
He brought a hand up against the door and gave it a knock.
“Councilors. This is Major Alenko. The hallway is clear. I’m here to evacuate you.”
“Thank the goddess,” he heard Tevos mutter from behind the door.
An, “About time” came from Udina.
He ignored the last part, couldn’t blame Udina for being impatient, although he didn’t have to be such an ass all the time. Kaidan turned around when they released the door lock, letting his eyes wander across the room, seeing that Tevos, Sparatus and Udina were all in good standing.
“Have any of you seen Councilor Valern?” he asked.
“Not in at least two hours.” Sparatus’ inquiry raised some concern. “The last time we saw him was before he contacted the Commander after curing the genophage. He was about to inform us why until we got separated.”
Kaidan frowned. “Wait... he cured the -?” he tried, but decided to drop it. This was certainly not the time. Not even close. He had missed out on a lot in a small time period. “I got separated with Thane Krios a couple of minutes ago. He’s looking for him. Meanwhile, my top priority is evacuating the three of you, so let’s get moving before any more soldiers show up.”
“Lead the way, major.”
Thane had cleared their path but he was yet nowhere to be seen. He brought the Councilors to the elevator by the end of the hallway, in which the Councilors headed into first, before being followed by Kaidan. The shuttle that Thane had readied for them was a few levels up. Kaidan still kept his guard and for good reason. He nearly startled as he heard feet hit the metal above them.
“Gunmen! Get down! Go!” Kaidan pushed the Councilors aside and out the elevator as he managed to fire a couple of bullets after the vehicle reached their level. In hope he had hit whatever Cerberus soldier trying to get to them, he headed out himself, only to find the Councilors watching the destroyed shuttle. They needed to find another way. “Cerberus took out the shuttle. Back to the elevator -- move!” He pulled up his firearm as he sensed movement. Liara stepped through, followed by Garrus, and then Shepard. He immediately lowered it before Liara shut the door behind them. “Shepard, what’s going on?”
Kaidan was in for a shock when the trio’s crosshairs lined up to one of the Councilors. Udina. He couldn’t remember moving. Not before finding himself mirroring Shepard with the gun back up. Shepard’s expression immediately lost its stoic edge, jaw tightened, slightly lowering the gun now when Kaidan was standing at the other end of it.
He couldn’t believe it. Shepard was taking part of the attack. He could swear Shepard looked uneasy where he stood as if he knew he was caught red-handed. It wasn’t like him to react in such a way.
Not so openly.
Kaidan clenched his jaw with Shepard in the crossfire. It all seemed so surreal. Like a bad dream he couldn’t wake up from. They hadn’t exactly been on the best of terms with each other recently, but he didn’t find that to be reason enough for Shepard wanting to kill him, so it was a do or don’t. A game of chance. He was between Shepard and his target and that was enough.
Udina broke in. “Shepard is blocking our escape. He is with Cerberus!”
“Just... just hang on,” Kaidan stuttered, trying to think clearly. “I got this. Everybody calm down.”
Shepard lowered the gun. “I can explain this, Kaidan.”
“Come on, Shepard. Gun drawn on a Councilor... Kind of looks bad,” he muttered softly, finally breaking the eye contact between them that he couldn’t bear holding for a moment longer.
He wasn’t surprised when Garrus and Liara turned on him as well. The both of them had been by Shepard’s side throughout all of this, either passively or aggressively, so they could quite possibly have been brainwashed. Shepard was damn charismatic. Seeing the face and witnessing the actions of Commander Shepard appeared to be enough for the two to swear immediate loyalty and support.
Shepard signaled them both to lower their firearms in which they obeyed.
“We don’t have time to negotiate.” Shepard’s focused glare met his again, taking a determined step forward. “You’ve been fooled, all of you. Udina is behind this attack. The salarian Councilor confirmed it.”
Udina. What the hell?
It couldn’t be right. He might be an ass, but this? Udina could never pull this off by himself. And why? Shepard’s now pained expression didn’t help as he was trying his best to be tactical about the situation. Putting a bullet in his former CO was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn’t want to admit it, but he would never be able to trigger the mechanism on him, not even in self-defense. Hell... it was Shepard.
With a scoff, Udina lined himself up next to Tevos. “Please. You have no proof. You never do.”
“There are Cerberus soldiers in the elevator behind us,” he said, shooting a hand towards the lift. “If you open that door, they’ll kill you all.”
“We’ve mistrusted Shepard before...” Tevos tried carefully, moving her gaze to the human Councilor “...and it did not help us.”
Udina began to move towards the console. “We don’t have time to debate this,” he said with determined steps, eager to get off-topic. “We’re dead if we stay out here. I’m overriding the lock.”
Kaidan had expected any form of stutter or dishonesty, but he heard nothing. If all this turned out to be true, that Udina was dirty, it wasn’t too difficult to believe. It would explain his animosity. Of course, his animosity could also be because he was accused for a crime he didn’t do, enough to make anyone just a tad bit salty. He would’ve believed Shepard within a heartbeat if he didn’t have past history with Cerberus.
“K, please... Trust me.”
His eyes focused intently on Shepard’s, scouting for any sign of dishonesty. He couldn’t find it. It both relieved and worried him that he was too difficult to read. There was something about the intensity of his eyes convincing him that it was more to this. As if this reminded him of something. A pained memory. It was usually the way he looked when bringing up Akuze so it had to be personal. So he hesitated.
Shepard seemed to attempt circling around him when his firearm was back up, but Kaidan carefully followed his movement, placing himself before the crossfire again. At least Shepard didn’t immediately pull the trigger. That was something. Maybe he was speaking the truth. He had a choice. Believe Shepard or don’t. One wrong decision could cost them greatly.
He and Shepard shared a glance before he made his decision.
“I better not regret this.”
My god, Alenko. What the hell are you doing?
The lines on Shepard’s face faltered in a way that somehow made him feel like he made the right choice. He glimpsed a small, appreciative smile tug at the corners of his lips, lowering the gun.
“You won’t,” he muttered, softly.
Kaidan found himself able to somewhat relax, but even so, the suspicion was yet lingering. He made sure he had Shepard in the corner of his eye as his firearm wandered from him to Udina.
“Udina. Step away from the console.”
“To hell with this,” Udina murmured, and began to override the lock.
Everything happened way too quickly after that. Udina had nearly killed Tevos, and Kaidan had placed a bullet in him, making his body drop to the floor in a heavy thud. The confirmation of making the correct choice was given after Commander Bailey came to view and informed them that Shepard had just saved their lives. Udina had always been an ass, but amazingly enough, he hadn’t expected this. Not from him.
The feeling of guilt of not believing Shepard came in its full force, and he made a promise never to doubt him again, although one question remained. Why did Shepard look so lost at the other end of the crossfire?
He was determined to find out when he stepped through the door.
|
“A machine for a machine operator...hmm, how about this machINE IT’S A NEW CAR!”
Harry’s jolted awake to a round of raucous cheering blaring from his television. Lifting his head a bit more, he’s confused by the sound and more so by the body he’s leaning on, until he recognizes Niall’s voice.
“Sorry mate, must’ve leaned on the remote, turned the volume way up,” he apologizes, wrenching the remote out from under him. Harry just grunts and sits himself upright, pushing his hair back from his face to rub the sleep out of his eyes.
“Price Is Right?” he mumbles tiredly.
“It’s three in the afternoon,” Niall says with a shrug. “It’s what’s on.”
“Why does every contestant insist on humping Drew Carey,” another voice comments from the couch across the room.
“Oh. Hey Zayn.”
“‘Sup H,” he says without taking his focus away from the show.
“What do you mean, humping Drew Carey.”
“Ni, look at--are you even watching the show?” Zayn chides, frowning. “They’re all humping Drew Carey when they get called up.”
“They’re just excited, bro.”
“Yeah, so excited they’re humping Drew Carey.”
“Not humping, just, like.” Niall searches for the term. “Jumping up and down a bit.”
“While tightly hugging Drew Carey,” Harry mutters, earning a snap of Zayn’s fingers in his general direction.
“Exactly.”
The statement is conveniently followed by the current contestant (an industrial machine operator from rural Wisconsin) winning the car, and very, very blatantly humping Drew Carey out of pure, unadulterated excitement. Zayn makes a gesture at the TV.
“Yeah, well,” Niall mutters, admitting defeat. “Who wouldn’t.”
“Hump Drew Carey?” Zayn says on a laugh. “You trying to tell us something, bro?”
“Handsome man like that giving me luxury formal dining sets and portable hot tubs?” Niall says, his tone serious. “Please, I’d go gay for Drew Carey in a heartbeat.”
Harry and Zayn burst out laughing at that, and for a full twenty minutes after waking up Harry is able to feel normal. Just joking around, yelling obnoxiously at the contestants on the screen, guessing prices and feeling genuine pride when getting the closest out of the three of them.
Until he remembers. “Oh fuck.”
“What is it?” Niall asks, only able to afford Harry a glance in his direction. Theresa’s about to win a trip to Costa Rica, after all.
But Harry’s kind of frozen. “Oh. Fuck oh fuck oh fuck.” Kind of stuck on loop, too.
“Uh,” Zayn starts, twisting around to face him. “You okay there, buddy?”
“I kissed Louis,” he says quietly, frowning hard at the wall above the TV. His fingers start trembling. “I kissed Louis, Zayn, I kissed him. On the--I. Oh fuck.”
“Oh, yeah, I heard,” he says casually, turning back around. “Good on ya.”
Harry fixes a glare at Niall who must’ve been expecting it, because he’s able to shrug without actually looking over. “Thought I’d bring him up to speed.”
“Yeah, you think you got all of it?” Harry rushes, heart rate quickly rising. “Got him all up to speed on how everything is totally irreversibly fucked? Because if so, why the fuck are we just sitting here watching The Price Is Right?”
“You’re being dramatic,” Zayn deadpans, and Harry seriously wants to whack him. “What should we be doing, then, if this is so unproductive?. Louis’ at his soccer tournament all day, yeah?”
“I--I dunno,” Harry stammers, anger and fear growing at a simultaneous pace. “Not pretending like everything is fucking normal, that’s for damn sure.”
Niall sighs and mutes the television. And suddenly everything is quiet, and it’s too fucking quiet, Harry’s brain takes a sharp turn and is very very quickly getting out of control, “No no no, that’s worse,” he says, truly panicked.
“What?”
“Just--just turn it back on.”
“I--okay,” Niall says, startled but obliging.
But the return of Drew Carey’s semi-witty banter doesn’t do much to quell Harry’s rapidly rising panic. He can’t be still, he can’t be sitting down anymore, he’s going to fucking explode if he doesn’t start moving right now.
But.
Apparently he can’t stand either, because as soon as he’s on his own two feet his head starts swimming, all the blood rushing up at once and without really registering it he’s stumbling forward and slamming his shin into the coffee table with a loud thunk.
“Fucking--” He doesn’t have much time though to curse and focus on the sudden, violent pain in his shin because he still doesn’t quite have his balance, he’s still falling. He tries to catch his feet up with the rest of his body but it’s useless, he stumbles another couple steps before falling on his ass and slamming his head back against the wall.
Zayn and Niall both lurch to their feet in the midst of his fall, but their reactions are far too delayed to be able to offer any actual help.
“Harry,” Zayn grumbles softly as he takes his time to steady himself. Niall, on the other hand, dives right down and goes to help Harry up again. “No, leave him there,” Zayn instructs, and Niall promptly drops his arm.
“M’fine,” Harry mumbles, rubbing the back of his head. “Shit, sorry.”
“The fuck are you apologizing for,” Niall laughs, staying knelt beside the boy. He gives him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “It’s your house you seem keen on destroying.”
“Are you okay?” Zayn asks, ignoring Niall and staring intently at Harry.
“I said I’m fine.”
“No, like, are you done freaking out?”
Harry checks back in with himself, and really, all signs point towards no, he’s not okay, why would you bring it up again, Zayn, he’s clearly going to freak out again. But his headbutt with the wall must’ve knocked some sense into him or something, reminded him that the world still exists with all its sharp corners and hard surfaces and is not, in fact, crumbling all around him.
“Yeah, I think I’m fine. Help me up?”
“In a sec,” Zayn says while waving off Niall’s immediate offer. “Catch your breath. Have you had anything to eat today?”
“Uh.” Harry thinks back. “No.”
“Right, so we need to get you something to eat.”
Harry shakes his head, the thought of eating actual food completely nauseating. “I’m really not hungry.”
“You still need to eat,” Zayn insists as he backs up towards Harry’s kitchen.
“There’s nothing there,” Harry calls out, but Zayn ignores him. “Really, my mom hasn’t gone shopping yet. Also Niall’s been here for, y’know, longer than twenty minutes.”
Zayn immediately swivels back around at that. “Good point.”
Niall’s completely unbothered. “Dirty Diner?” he suggests eagerly.
“Absolutely not,” Harry says firmly right as Zayn says “Perfect,” and Harry just sighs and lets Niall pull him to his feet because really, he knows better than to resist Zayn when he’s concerned and Niall when he’s hungry.
* * *
Harry can’t quite find the word to describe how he’s feeling. Maybe because most words apply. He feels sedated but jittery, calm but tense, happy but just a little bit sad. There’s a tightness in his chest but a fond smile on his face, and he doesn’t know what it is about seeing Louis perform that does this to him, makes his insides all muddled and his brain lightning sharp.
He doesn’t feel too desperate to figure it out though, all hidden in the back of the theater where the lights are dimmed. Here he can just sit and stew in every mixed up feeling that comes his way, feel them as freely as he wants, because who’s going to see him.
It’s the closest thing to a fire escape he can get while in school.
He’s not really supposed to be here. Mrs. Rivera sent him to fetch some extension cords about an hour ago, but even when Harry manages to run her errands in a timely manner she just seems to forget about him until he shows up again. He figures his presence won’t be all that missed. Rehearsal has pretty much ended anyway, and no one was ever sent out to look for him. That’s the way it usually is.
He would leave at this point, would have already left actually, but Louis’ been called back by the music director to work out some extra harmonies with the female lead, and jeez, despite Louis being his ride home, if he has to pinpoint a single thing most responsible for the constriction he feels in his chest, it’s hearing Louis sing.
“Hey, kid.”
The proximity of the voice startles him, his ears having been attuned to those on the stage a hundred feet away for at least a couple hours now. He whips his head around and finds himself looking at the sound booth, where Nick Grimshaw is stood in the doorway, waving for him to come over.
Or...someone behind him, maybe? Harry looks over his shoulder to check, honestly expecting to find someone else, because surely he isn’t talking to him. But Nick just makes an impatient noise. “Yeah, you, the only one left in the theater. C’mere.”
Harry rises to his feet and shuffles over, crossing his arms and ducking sheepishly through the doorway when the gangly teenager gestures for him to come inside. Nick closes the door behind him and plops down into a spinny chair, and what the hell is Harry doing in a cramped room alone with Nick Grimshaw. Harry’s crowd isn’t really the jaded, perpetually grumpy senior-type who hate all middle schoolers with a passion.
Well. Harry’s “crowd” is mainly Louis and Niall, but that’s besides the point.
“What’s your name,” he asks. But not really, it’s more of an order.
“Harry Styles.”
“What exactly do you do here, Harry Styles.” And wow, Louis is right, Nick Grimshaw really does have a way of sounding super condescending with just the simplest sentences.
“I, uh. I work backstage.”
“You work backstage,” Nick repeats, and Harry’s not really sure if he’s supposed to confirm that or not, so he just gives a small nod. “What’re you doing holed up in the back of the theater, then?”
“Um.” Harry scratches the back of his neck, ready to recite the half-assed excuse he prepared in case anyone came up to him. “Mrs. Rivera doesn’t really need me that often, so I was taking a break.”
Nick looks skeptical, but Harry hopes that’s just how his face is. “You sit out there every rehearsal. For like, hours.”
And fuck, the back of the theater is nothing like the fire escape, absolutely nothing. It’s like he’s been caught in some big horrible secret that he didn’t even know was a big horrible secret until someone found out. He feels his cheeks get hot and he shoves his hands into his sweatshirt to make sure Nick won’t notice when his fingers start trembling. His voice, however, is far ahead of his fingers. “Uh.” What is he supposed to say? What was the question again? Was there even a question? “Yes?”
Nick doesn’t say anything after that, just stares at Harry, who is really just trying to find anywhere else to look because if he looks directly at Nick he’ll probably start crying.
Nick jabs his thumb towards the booth’s large window. “Who’s that?”
Harry turns as well, sees he’s indicating the stage. “Louis Tomlinson and Eleanor Calder,” he answers, and wow, he almost adds “sir” at the end there, and his cheeks ridiculously get even hotter at just the thought of it. “Both eighth graders.”
“You know either of them?”
“I don’t really know Eleanor that well,” Harry admits, thankful at least for questions he has answers to. “But Louis’ my best friend.”
“Aha,” Nick says, his smile a bit unsettling. “There it is.”
When he doesn’t continue, Harry risks, “There what is?”
“Do you like him?” he immediately throws instead.
“He’s, y’know.” Harry pauses, waiting pointlessly for Nick to jump in. “He’s my best friend, so. Yeah.”
“Not what I meant and you know it,” Nick says, idly pushing himself back and forth on his spinny chair. “Come on, I’m just trying to get in on all the hot sixth grade gossip. Stay hip with the kids.”
“...Okay?”
“Okay?” Nick mocks, laughing a little to himself, and Harry has to focus on keeping his knees from giving out. “So. Y’ever had a girlfriend, Harry?”
What the hell is going on. “No?”
“You ever think about why that is?”
“I’m...twelve?”
Nick ponders that for a moment. “Right,” he eventually decides. “Fair enough. You’ve gotta have a crush on someone though, yeah?”
Harry shifts uncomfortably. Everything about this is uncomfortable. “Uh, no. Guess not.”
“Oh come on,” Nick scoffs, and Harry flinches. “Being twelve means having big huge disgusting crushes on people.”
Harry just shrugs.
“You’re telling me you’ve been in middle school for almost a full year now and you’ve never had a crush on anyone?”
“I guess,” Harry mumbles.
Nick crosses his arms and furrows his brow, giving Harry a considering look. “You know you stare at Louis an awful lot, right?”
And even if Harry had an answer, his throat has closed up too much to give one.
“That is Louis, yeah? The kid playing Danny Zuko?” Harry hopes his silence is answer enough. But Nick just continues to search his face, and when Harry accidentally makes eye contact with him for a split second, he’s surprised to find that his expression has lost a bit of its edge. He looks almost sad, or something. “You ever think you might have a crush on him?”
Harry’s stomach drops. Like, past his feet, through the floor, down to the center of the fucking earth. “What?” is all he manages to squeak out.
Nick just sighs, sitting forward a bit in his chair. “It’s alright to have a crush on Louis. God knows all the girls already do.”
Harry forces himself to swallow painfully around the lump in his throat. “You think I’m gay.” You think I’m gay, you think I’m gay. Gay gay gay gay--
“I think you might be confused,” Nick defends. “And maybe I’m an asshole for assuming that. But no one ever told me any that shit when I was your age, and frankly, it’s a bitch to have to figure out on your own.”
“I’m not gay,” Harry whispers after another second, and even he can tell he doesn’t sound that convincing.
“I’m not saying you’re gay,” Nick says on another sigh, visibly trying to hide his frustration. “There’s a lot of things you could be. Way more than just gay or straight, I mean. Just--It’s okay to be confused. It’s okay to question this stuff. And it’s okay to have crushes on your best friend, even if he’s a boy.”
Harry’s staring hard at the ground, can see the fabric of his sweatshirt pockets vibrating slightly. He desperately wants to get out of here. “Okay,” he manages, and it’s so shaky and soft, he’s never felt so god damn young.
Nick sighs one final time, spinning his chair back around to face the window. “Alright, enough of this sappy shit. Get the hell out of here, you’re stinking up the booth with your prepubescence.”
When Harry finally restores the connection between his brain and his feet, he scrambles out of that room and back into the theater so fast he almost careens straight into a row of seats. First thing he notices is that he can’t see a thing. Maybe it’s because he can feel that dull, growing burn behind his eyes that comes from holding back tears, or maybe it’s the stark contrast between the fluorescently lit soundbooth and the dim lights illuminating the theater seats, or maybe it’s because Harry’s mind is reeling and has a million other things to focus on and worry about rather than some petty thing like sight.
Well. One other thing.
Once his eyes adjust enough that he can make out the general outlines of big objects, he makes the move to stumble down the steps dividing the sea of seats, and instinctively circles around to the backstage entrance. He goes in, quickly locates his backpack (haphazardly thrown under one of the prop tables), and heads right out onto the stage towards the main door.
“Oh, uh--are you--”
And Harry literally jumps about two feet in the air out of fright, almost throwing himself directly into the orchestra pit and god fucking dammit, are you fucking joking, all these people need to stop fucking sneaking up on him all the time. He narrowly saves himself with a few windmill motions with his arms, his toes terrifyingly close to the edge, when a pair of hands grips his forearm and pulls him back to safety.
“Christ, you alright, man?”
Well, apart from the fact that Harry’s knees are shaking worse than ever, “Yeah, um. Sorry. You scared me.” Harry tries to throw a laugh in there but it just comes out forced.
“Scared me too,” the boy says with a soft chuckle. “Thought I was the only one left, to be honest.”
“Yeah, no, was held back a bit,” Harry rushes, keeping his head down as he begins to back up towards the doorway. “You seen Louis around anywhere? He’s, uh. In the show,” he tacks on as an afterthought.
“Oh, are you Harry?”
And this surprises Harry enough that he ends up compromising his whole “I will avoid looking up at all costs” plan and makes eye contact with the boy for the first time, with his surely distraught expression and embarrassingly watery eyes and all.
And as he takes in the boy, all perfectly tan skin and wide brown eyes and a deflated, adorable quiff, something inside Harry crumbles just that little bit more as he realizes he finds this boy incredibly attractive. And apparently he’s been holding his breath. “Fuck,” he accidentally mutters on his exhale, and the boy just raises his eyebrows in growing confusion. Harry catches himself far too late and rushes to apologize. “No no, uh, sorry, I’m--yeah, I’m him. Harry, I mean. Sorry.”
“Right,” the boy says slowly. “Well, Louis was asking around for you earlier, apparently he was going to drive you home? But he finished late and assumed you’d left, so.” The boy ends with a shrug.
“Oh,” Harry says. He glances around. “Well, shit.”
“If you feel like sticking around for another half hour, my mom can drive you home,” the boy offers easily. “I’m Zayn, by the way.”
“That’s.” Wow. “Awfully nice of you,” Harry stammers, surprised at the boy’s unexpected kindness.
“It’s no problem,” Zayn says before reaching down to pick up a paint palette. “You any good at art?”
“No,” Harry admits. “Never have been. My, uh, art abilities pretty much peak at Thanksgiving hand turkeys.”
Zayn laughs at that, and Harry smiles in relief. “Come help paint the sky, then. It’s huge, I doubt you’ll have much trouble.”
“Thanks,” Harry says sincerely as Zayn hands him a blue and a brush.
Zayn smiles his response and ducks off to the corner of the backdrop. Harry gets up on a stepstool, preparing his brush, but he’s not sure what to do about the clouds, so he turns back to Zayn and his words catch in his throat because that, what Zayn’s painting on the side of a building--
“Is that--are you painting a tiny Bat Signal into the set?” he asks, just a little incredulous.
“Yeah,” Zayn laughs. “I like to sneak little things like this in when no one else’s around. Mrs. Rivera always gives a good show when she finds them.”
“That’s brilliant,” Harry admires, and Zayn gives a humble shrug.
“Always thought musicals could do with more superheroes.”
And Harry swears he hears an actual clicking noise inside his head. “You like superheroes?”
Zayn looks over at him and nods, grinning wide. “Love ‘em. You?”
|
PANNACOTTA’s a smart kid.
He’s heard it all his life.
But he won’t get anywhere with that temper.
Also heard all his life.
Fugo’s attended a few anger management seminars and read books (not even for their help but for the psychological concepts). He tried practicing empathy, focusing on his breathing, meditation, yoga, swimming, counting to ten, drinking tea, and he will burn his therapist’s next ‘Keep Calm’ poster if tearing down the last one wasn’t clear enough.
Even when he became less angry as a person, he simply replaced that with precision-strike violence. And when his temper caused him to attack his own father, he decided it was time to go. Fugo wasted a lot of time and money putting himself up in hotels as he worked and got fired from various factory and janitorial jobs. He, who was lauded as a genius and came from some of the best money could buy, was fucking up carrying boxes and mopping? He understood why his parents never called. One, because their son’s a monster. Two, because he’ll eventually drag his emaciated ass home with a hard lesson learned.
Or they can suck it! He was hired by Bruno Bucciarati to be a chef for an upcoming restaurant. If they hired two others, they could open and that was their mission. Fugo found his man first. A small guy as hungry and alone as he was with brown eyes as hostile as Fugo tended to be. This guy was a mouse. Black haired, shaggy, and dirty. One eye was bandaged and it almost made Fugo sick imagining why. Narancia, his name was, needed help and Fugo needed to get his shit together, lest he join him.
He took up yoga and meditation thinking that, one day, he could go back to his parents with an even temper and neat friend. But when he’d properly met a Narancia that wasn’t bedridden and medicated, lo and behold, he was an asshole. Not only was Narancia obnoxious, but he was stupid and illiterate (to an extent) and it’s hard to practice empathy when the little imp has you in a headlock. Narancia was a hot-head but not a monster like Fugo. Narancia acted out of retaliation while Fugo… acted. After a fight, Narancia would get pissy and pouty then hungry, still hot while Fugo ran cold and would rather starve due to his bad mood. They fought every day and it was odd because they hung out outside of work and then the little imp came and asked:
“Can I move in with you?”
Fugo shrugged, “Sure.”
He grins, “Great! Because two money is better than one money.”
And Fugo didn’t attack him. Progress. Progress was seeing the other side. A Fugo who helped Narancia read and do math. A Narancia who taught Fugo to dance, have a beer, have a laugh. They shared movies, music, food, a home, a bed, a kiss, and a contest.
They’re on the couch, Narancia on Fugo. They were going to do more than kisses and handjobs and Fugo had been looking forward to it. Granted, it was his awkwardness and killjoy tendencies that took them so long. That night, he was going to calm the fuck down, lean back, and let things run their course. The imp sits up, rests his hands on Fugo’s shoulders, and rocks him back and forth.
“Let’s get married~”
Fugo let out a weak laugh, “We’re broke.”
“So? Poor people get married all the time and I love ya enough. All we say is ‘I do’ and have pizza for dinner.”
“You love me...”
“Yeah, dumbass.”
Fugo’s face felt hot. He’s gone red and Narancia, thankfully, doesn’t point it out this time.
“But what’s this about marriage? Why now?” He looks down at where their groins meet, “Why now?”
“My dad was a useless prick but that’s because he was hurting, you know? He loved my mom and became a useless prick because of her. That’s mad love.”
He glares at nothing.
“I’m certain you’d do great, but stay with me here. We’re talking marriage. There’s supposed to be a ceremony, reception and a honeymoon–”
Narancia made a face, “That’s for people who make good money and they’ll save for a whole year to make that shit happen.”
“Again, we’re broke, so our standards won’t be very high.”
Narancia takes Fugo’s phone from his pocket and after a wait, shows his fiancé the ring: gold, band of diamonds, two—
“TWO-THOUSAND EUROS?!” he shoves Narancia off, “Two-thousand of my hard-earned euros for an insignificant band?”
He’s tripped and shortly after he's met the floor does he feel that fucking prick sitting on his butt, grinding against him and rubbing his back.
“But I’m irresistible. If you want this, you gonna have to put a ring on it.”
Fugo, for all his genius, is an idiot. Seduction led to an argument which led to a bet and its rule: nothing past second base. First one to cave forks over the ring.
It’s stupid. It’s stupid but running ten months strong and mornings, like today, begin with a silly tactic: naked breakfast (or as naked as you’re up for). Fugo trudges down the hall on this shining Monday morning and there’s Narancia in a smirk and dancing in boxer briefs. Fugo slips out of his pajamas, nice and slow. Thong leaving nothing to the imagination as he helps himself to the pancakes and joins in his fiancé’s dance.
Breakfast is spent on the couch watching a Christmastime cartoon special. Plates are soon left on the coffee table and Narancia lays across Fugo, the deadpan blonde trails his fingers along his sweet spitfire’s spine. His hand lands on his waist and he shoves him off.
“Damn it!” Narancia cries.
“Not today.”
Narancia kisses his teeth and heads to the shower. Fugo stretches and crosses his feet with a smug smile for another day won. He’s going to marry that little imp, make love to him, cherish him and flaunt that gold ring.
Forever and always.
|
Before Dany departed the Iron Islands for Essos, she was visited by Drogon, and she felt at peace knowing he was safe. She wondered where he had been, but it didn't matter. He was alive. That's all she wanted. As Rhaelya sat on her knee, babbling about big Drogon, Dany watched her son soar in the dusky blue and pink sky, and felt herself smiling, completely content in the moment. Dany was never tempted to mount him. She knew he missed her riding him, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. Perhaps one day.
After a brief stay in Essos, Dany was back at the Iron Islands again a couple of moons after Rhaelya's fourth name day. There was only one scroll waiting for her upon her return to Pyke, and a small box. She took both of them to her chambers, after Yara said she would look after Rhaelya for a little while.
Once Dany perched on the edge of her bed, she unraveled the scroll, seeing it was for her daughter rather than herself.
Rhaelya,
I made you something for your fourth name day, and I hope you will like it. I don't know if your Mother has ever mentioned direwolves to you before, but I have one of my own. He's called Ghost and he lives beyond the wall with some friends of mine. Maybe you can meet him someday.
I love you both so much, and I always will.
Father.
Dany turned to the box, and pushed open the lid, finding a small wooden carving, in the unmistakable shape of a direwolf. She closed her eyes and slammed the box shut, forming a fist with her hand and creasing the scroll. After a few seconds, she felt tears on her cheeks, and she placed a hand over her mouth, trying to hold her sobs in. She closed her eyes, trying not to let her guilt consume her.
Sighing in frustration, she picked up the box and moved towards the fire, planning to throw both the box and the scroll into it. Her hands hovered over the flames, and the heat licked her skin, but she couldn't let go. No matter how much she told herself to throw them onto the fire, her heart wouldn't allow it.
Pulling the box and scroll to her chest, she sank down to her knees and curled over into herself, and began rocking back and forth. She cried for a long time by the fire, wishing things were easier, and wishing for that life she could be living if things had turned out differently.
Eventually, her tears stopped falling, and she sniffed, looking back down to the box in her hands. She opened the lid again, and took the wooden direwolf out, running her fingers over the engraved fur detailing. She didn't even know Jon was capable of making such a thing. Rhaelya would love it. She already knew of direwolves, and had asked for one of her own.
Dany's gaze traveled over to the small desk in the corner of her chambers, and she stared at the ink pot on top of the desk. She stood up, and walked over to it, gently placing the wooden direwolf down next to the ink pot. Then she sat down at the desk, and picked up a quill, dipping it in the ink, and moving a sheet of paper in front of her.
The tip of the quill hovered over the paper for so long, the ink dripped onto it, making an ugly splodge. Dany shook her head, and began to write.
Jon,
I wish for you to visit the castle tomorrow evening after nightfall. I would like to speak with you.
Dany.
***
The following evening, Dany was engrossed in un-braiding her daughters hair ready for bed. It was quite a simple hairstyle that Rhaelya had in; two braids forming into one at the back of her head. Rhaelya never wanted much done to her hair. In fact, Dany was sure her daughter would be happy with no braids, but she allowed her Mother to braid her hair anyway.
Dany had kept the wooden direwolf a secret from Rhaelya. She couldn't face giving it to her, or explaining where or who it was from, and so it remained hidden from her daughter's eyes, for now at least.
"My Queen." Grey Worm's voice came from behind Dany. He was speaking in Valyrian, like they always did. Dany couldn't remember the last time her and Grey Worm had spoke the common tongue. She was teaching Rhaelya both languages, but she mostly used the common tongue with her daughter.
"Yes?" Dany asked.
"I need to speak with you," Grey Worm said.
"You can speak to me now," Dany replied, weaving her fingers through her daughter's soft hair as she unraveled the braids.
Grey Worm didn't reply, so Dany looked over her shoulder. Her friend eyed Rhaelya then looked back to Dany, and shook his head.
Rhaelya looked between her Mother and Grey Worm. "What is it?" Rhaelya asked.
Dany didn't want to panic her daughter, and she had a feeling she knew what - or rather who - Grey Worm wanted to talk about.
She turned to her daughter, and bent down in front of her. "Nothing is wrong, Sweetling. Wait here a moment, okay? I'll just be outside the door."
"Okay." Rhaelya smiled and nodded at her Mother, before Dany followed Grey Worm out of the room, closing the door behind her.
"Is is Jon?" she asked in a hushed voice.
"Yes," Grey Worm said. "You requested I come and find you as soon as he arrived."
"Thank you," she said, shakily. He was earlier than Dany had expected. "Make sure he is searched and take any weapons off him."
"Already done," Grey Worm replied. "He had no weapons, and only carried one thing."
Dany frowned. "What?"
"Your diary."
"My diary?" Dany repeated. "Are you sure?"
"I did not check inside, but it looks the same as the one you showed me back at Dragonstone."
Dany could feel her pulse all over her body. The fact that Jon still kept her diary after all this time made her feel more emotional than she wanted. Did he have it last time he came into the castle? She had never asked Yara what was taken from him last time she spoke to him, all those years ago.
"I'm going to say goodnight to Rhaelya," Dany explained. "Bring it to me afterwards, please."
Grey Worm nodded, and Dany turned back towards the chambers she shared with her daughter. She took a deep breath, and put a smile on her face to ensure Rhaelya didn't suspect anything.
When she poked her head around the door, her daughter turned at the sound of Dany's footsteps and her whole face lit up with joy. "Mother! You're back!" she exclaimed, running over to her. "Look. I finished my hair by myself."
Dany smiled at the way her daughter called her "Mother" it was only a recent thing. Rhaelya insisted she was old enough now to switch from "Mama" to "Mother". Dany wholly disagreed, but let her daughter do as she pleased.
When she lifted her daughter up into the air, Rhaelya wrapped her arms around Dany's neck. "Your hair looks beautiful," Dany said, pulling her head back to look at Rhaelya properly. "But now it's time for sleep." She kissed her daughter on the forehead and walked over to the bed, placing Rhaelya down gently.
"What story would you like tonight, Sweetling?" Dany asked.
***
After telling Rhaelya her favourite bedtime story - the Queen and King of Westeros - Dany had leaned forward, kissed her daughter on the forehead, and left the room.
When she turned away from the door, she saw Grey Worm stood before her. His hands were clasped behind his back, his stature straight, as if he was ready for an attack any moment. He was always like that these days. Dany didn't mind; it made her feel safer.
"Have you got it?" Dany asked in Valyrian.
"Yes, my Queen," Grey Worm replied in the same language.
Dany's gaze lowered when Grey Worm brought his hands forward from behind his back. She could hear her heartbeat thumping in her ears as she stared down at what her friend was holding.
Her hands reached out and she took the brown leather book from Grey Worm. It looked exactly the same as the last time she saw it, even though years had passed.
Dany opened the book at the back page, and stared down at the first line of words.
Jon, my love.
She snapped the book shut and looked back up to Grey Worm. "Where is he?"
"Waiting for you in the library, as requested," he answered bitterly.
Dany sighed. She was well aware that he wasn't pleased about her inviting Jon here, and he was right to be skeptical. She still wondered if she was doing the right thing.
"I have to try, Grey Worm," Dany told him. "For Rhaelya."
Grey Worm set his jaw and nodded. "As you wish."
Dany reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "I do appreciate your opinion, my friend," she told him. "And maybe you're right about this being a mistake."
"I hope I am not," Grey Worm replied. "For Rhaelya's sake...and yours."
Dany gave him a small smile. "Me too," she whispered.
|
In the crowd of Pro-Heroes waiting for the agency announcement, Izuku felt watched. He tried to reason that the sensation was all in his head; everyone’s eyes were pointed forward, upwards toward the balcony, especially now that Hawks was walking out to their claps and cheers. Still, Izuku felt a slithering sensation beneath his skin from unseen eyes on his back.
Maybe they could sense what he could; the looming force of change waiting to crash down at any second. Only, why would anyone else feel it? Tonight Kacchan would finally Claim him, but no one else should know that.
Unless they did.
Izuku raised a hand to grip his other forearm, digging his fingers into the spandex of his hero costume to calm himself. Of course no one knew, especially not that it would happen tonight. He was just nervous about the Claim and projecting those feelings onto everyone else. He’d felt this way when he first received One-For-All, too. Eventually, he’d get used to adding another secret to his arsenal. Until then, he just had to calm down. Pay attention. Keep up appearances.
Besides, he wasn’t only nervous about the Claim. He’d been the one to ask for it, after all. And, sure, things were still a little awkward with Kacchan after the...incident. But he was still sure about wanting to be Claimed and he was glad it was Kacchan. Besides...it was nice to be able to talk to him like that on the beach.
He couldn’t remember the last time they’d sat down and talked. It felt...good.
“Hello Heroes!” Hawks’ voice echoed through the atrium, somehow both feather-light and commanding. “I can’t believe how much we’ve grown! When I started this agency over 10 years ago, never would I have imagined having so many people working by my side. In fact, I’d probably have slapped myself upside the head for taking on so much responsibility.”
Laughter traveled through the crowd, the chuckles vibrating the feathers of Hawks’ wings. “I became a hero with one goal, and one goal only. To make it to the day where I could come into work, pick up a beer, and drink it knowing that there would be no villains to make me regret getting a little bit tipsy.”
Even from here, Izuku could see Hawks’ smile and recognized it for what it was. Izuku had smiled for the crowd enough times to see the strain at the edges and the tinge of sadness in it’s quirk.
“Well, the time has finally come for me to pick up a beer without worry. Unfortunately, the bad guys haven’t stopped coming. But what young me didn’t account for was that, one day, I’d surround myself with so many other capable, exemplary Pro-Heroes that I wouldn’t be the one running out to the field when those villains came.
“Today, I’ve asked you all to gather to announce my retirement,” a chorus of objections flooded the atrium, causing Hawks to pause. He raised his hands up above his head, before extending out his magnificent wings when that didn’t seem to grab their attention. Only then did the crowd settle down. The number One hero still waited a moment before picking up his speech.
“But don’t you worry, chickadees! I won’t be flying the coop just yet. I make my announcement now because, once I leave the Nest, I plan to leave it in the capable hands of one, or several, of you. My plan is to officially retire at the end of the year, leaving us all with several months, plenty of time, to find the next number One…’Least I hope so!”
The crowd mumbled amongst themselves, and this time Izuku knew he wasn’t imaging the eyes on his back.
“Think of this not as an ending, but a beginning, my chicks! It’s time you all learn how to fly yourselves! Boring patrols and successful missions all around today, you hear?”
Clapping and howls of agreement swallowed Izuku up as he watched Hawks walk away with a wave. It only occurred to Izuku that he should be clapping too after it was too late. Everyone was already beginning to walk away, some quickly filing out, others hanging back to converse. Izuku turned to leave to avoid the later, only to hear a familiar voice in his ear.
“He was talking about you, you know.”
Izuku’s head swung to the right, greeting Todoroki with a smile followed by a quick frown as his words sunk in. “What are you talking about? We both know he’ll leave this place to Tokoyami. He’s his right-hand man.”
Todoroki shook his head, strands of his dual-color hair mixing into the wrong color of his slightly too-long bangs. “Tokoyami works better from the shadows. I agree he’ll continue to do so, no matter what, but someone needs to be the face of The Nest.”
The frown on Izuku’s face stuck. Shouto began to walk forward in the direction of the door, knowing Izuku would fall into step. And he did.
“If you’re thinking like that, then you realize you’re just as much of an option as I am?”
“I doubt I’ll still be around by the end of the year.”
The Omega’s head snapped to stare at his friend with an open-mouth. “What? Why?”
The Alpha shrugged. “If I’m going to be in charge of an agency, it wouldn’t be this one.”
Izuku wished he could frown harder. He knew what Shouto was referring to, even if he didn’t understand his reasoning.
“Why are you suddenly willing to take Endeavor up on his offer now?”
Unlike Hawks, who was talking about retirement relatively early for a Pro-Hero, Endeavor was long-past his prime. The Flame Hero was closer to sixty than fifty and he’d long fallen from the top spots on the Hero charts. Still, the stubborn man held onto his position as the head of his hero agency. He’d reached out to Todoroki every year for the last five years to offer him the position, despite working at a completely different agency since his graduation. To hear Todoroki actually consider the offer now, after so long, threw Izuku off.
After all, Todoroki and his father had a...complicated relationship. And Izuku understood why. Shouto’s childhood had been hell because of Enji Todoroki. But when he was made number One, Endeavor seemed to undergo a change of heart. To which, Todoroki responded in many ways over the years.
Ambivalence, rejection, mild acceptance. Izuku had watched his friend tear himself apart in every way possible as he struggled to reconcile the Endeavor of today with his memories of the man. And Izuku had been there to pick up the pieces, when he wasn’t playing his own part in the pair’s game of chess.
“I’ve proven that my strength is my own long ago; there’s no reason to deny myself those resources.”
“Mmm,” Izuku hummed with a nod, before jokingly adding, “I wonder who told you that.”
“You,” Todoroki responded bluntly. “And Yaorashi.”
Izuku suddenly stopped walking, halting in the middle of an empty hall. “Inasa? When did you guys start talking about your father?”
The Alpha stopped walking, too, pivoting slowly on his heel to face Izuku. “A few weeks into our relationship.”
“Your—oh,” Izuku suddenly felt his mouth go dry, probably from the heat in his cheeks. “I didn’t realize—”
Shouto shrugged, turning back around to start walking down the hall. “We didn’t make it official online, yet. I can’t expect you to have known.”
“But you didn’t say anything to me, either.” The Omega quickly walked forward, half running to catch up. “Isn’t Inasa an Alpha too?”
“Yes.”
The word came out uncaring, but also pointedly. Acid began to claw its way from Izuku’s stomach to his throat. That was the only way to explain the words he said next.
“That to piss off your dad?”
Now it was Todoroki’s turn to stop, the blankness of his face only achievable by him. Izuku was already backtracking.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant—I don’t know what I meant. I—I’m happy for you. I wish I had known though.”
Shouto studied him for a moment longer before moving forward, physically and conversationally. “I’m not the only one with secrets, I hear.”
“What do you mean?”
“Uraraka is looking for you.”
Izuku groaned, dropping his forehead into his hand. “She told you!”
“I would have agreed to do it.”
The hurt in his friend’s voice was obvious and it made Izuku grit his teeth.
“I know, but I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t ask. How would Inasa feel about it?”
“He likely wouldn’t care. It’s not as if we could very well Claim each other.”
“But knowing you, you probably wouldn’t have even asked first.”
“Should I have?”
“Yes!”
“Ah.”
Izuku shook his head with a small chuckle. “Sometimes you’re still as hopeless as you were in high school.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Training Room One was already lit by the time Izuku arrived twenty minutes to midnight. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised; Kacchan was never late for anything, so what if he was a little early tonight, too. In this all too familiar setting with the person Izuku knew the best, a scene had never felt so foreign.
Bakugo must have been here for a while. In the very center of the room, he’d set up a blanket complete with throw pillows, water, and what looked like a plastic bag full of snacks. If Izuku didn’t know any better, he’d have thought the two were about to have a picnic. The second Izuku walked into the room, Kacchan looked up from the duffle bag his arm was buried in with a half-hearted scowl.
“You’re early, nerd.”
“I usually am.”
Katsuki clicked his tongue, dropping his eyes to his bag to pull out an old hoodie, only to toss it to one side of the blanket. Izuku walked over purposefully but a bit hesitant to interrupt whatever...this was. He got to the edge of the blanket before Katsuki had finished. He stood there, waiting for an invitation to his own Claiming.
“What the fuck are you just standing there for? Sit.”
Izuku lowered himself onto one of the pillows on the very edge of the set up, legs crossed underneath him. “What’s all this for?”
At that, Katsuki finally looked up, his red eyes shining under the fluorescent bulbs high above. “The Claim, idiot. The thing we’re here for.”
“Umm, and we need all of this?”
“The hell? Didn’t you research Claims at all?”
“Of course I did.” Izuku frowned. He’d looked up a lot about Claims prior to asking Kacchan to Claim him in the first place. Of course, he’d focused more of his energies and attention on researching the physical act of Claiming and hiding the Mark, but still. He didn’t remember all of this being necessary. He said as much aloud.
“Tch,” Kacchan clicked his tongue, finally tossing his bag behind him, “then you should know that some people experience side effects. A drop in blood sugar, feeling faint, passing out completely.”
Izuku stared at his life-long companion as if seeing a stranger sitting in front of him. “So you—”
“Brought shit to mitigate that, like any prepared person would. What the fuck, Deku. Did you seriously come in here bare-handed?”
“I’m not going to faint, Kacchan!”
“How the fuck do you know?”
“I’m a Pro-Hero!”
“So? Shit happens to Pro-Heroes too, damn Deku.”
The quiet restraint in Kacchan’s voice gave Izuku pause. He waited a moment, not expecting Katsuki to continue, but also showing that he knew the gravity of those words. Being Pro-Heroes had never protected them before. Both he and Kacchan experienced injuries, grief, pain like anyone else. They probably had more than their fair share over the years.
Izuku averted his eyes, looking anywhere but Katsuki. “Sorry, you’re right.”
As if the atmosphere hadn’t already been tense with nerves, unease now hung in the air, toxic and smothering. Eventually, Izuku broke through the silence with a low whisper.
“How do we start?”
Their eyes met each other at the same time, two sets of stars hot enough to power their own galaxies.
“Come closer.”
Even without Orders, Kacchan’s gruff voice had always called to Izuku with its confidence and control. Alpha or not, Katsuki was always meant to lead. He was one of the few people Izuku trusted to follow without thought.
The younger Pro-Hero scooted himself further onto the quilt with his hands, his legs coming slightly undone with the movement. They nearly bumped into Katsuki’s knees as the blonde pulled himself forward without warning. Izuku barely stopped in time for their heads not to hit each other at the mid-way point. As it was, their faces were only a few inches away; the fire in Katsuki’s eyes heating Izuku’s cheeks to the point that they nearly turned pink. It was hard not to remember what had happened the last time they were this close in Training Room One.
“Next?”
Katsuki didn’t respond, his gaze fixed but searching. Izuku didn’t dare break eye contact, his pride overriding his impatience for once in his life.
“Is this really what you want?”
Words slipped past Bakugo’s lips, but they didn’t feel like they were from Kacchan. “Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course.”
“And if this changes things?”
At those words, Izuku’s face finally transformed; his brows furrowed, and the left side of his mouth dipped into a half-frown. “What would it change?”
The other man didn’t respond again. Izuku’s eyes finally broke their staring contest, darting around his face for some hint of what he was talking about, before coming back to that fiery gaze.
“I still want this. No matter what happens, I want you to Claim me, Kacchan.”
Another pause and then, finally, Katsuki nodded. He re-adjusted his weight, leaning back on his shins to gain some distance between them. “It’ll help if I scent you first. ‘Supposed to make the Claim stick faster or some shit like that.”
Izuku just nodded, knowing at least that much. “That’s fine.”
Katsuki leaned forward just as Izuku stuck out his wrists, making them both pause. Before Izuku could say anything, the Alpha had already grabbed one of his hands and begun rubbing the scent gland in his wrist against Izuku’s own.
A familiar and comforting scent filled the air. The whiff of cinnamon and ash that Izuku had caught in the conference room was nothing like the pheromones that wrapped tightly around them, despite the wide open arena of the Training Room. It was as if they were sitting in front of a bonfire, a mug of cinnamon hot cocoa in his hands. Vaguely, Izuku wondered if this was because of his own scent mixing in, despite him not knowingly releasing any of his own pheromones.
While lost in that thought, Katsuki had finished scenting his other wrist and moved his hand toward Izuku’s neck. Out of instinct, Izuku snapped his head down to the side, blocking the incoming hand from his vulnerable neck. A soft growl vibrated through Katsuki’s chest, visible beneath his tight t-shirt. Izuku forced his shoulders to relax, rolling his head to the right side to reveal both his neck and the gland located on his left. Kacchan’s calloused hand wrapped around the nape of his neck, gripping without any strength as he rubbed his wrist into Izuku’s scent gland.
The world took a hard left and Izuku reeled. The scenting of his wrist was nothing compared to scenting of his neck. He could practically see the haze of pheromones twinkling around them, and Izuku had the urge to reach out to touch them. His whole body burned, but he’d never felt so calm in his life.
“Oi, are you alright?”
Izuku looked at Katsuki, or at least he tried to. He didn’t look like Kacchan. Katsuki Bakugo didn’t look so soft; his skin didn’t normally glow, his eyelids never drooped heavy over glassy ruby eyes. The only thing Izuku recognized was the hard set of the other’s lips.
“Hey, I’m talking to you.”
It took a hard shake of his head to push the fog out of his eyes. Kacchan looked more familiar now, his eyes just as bright as Izuku remembered.
“I’m fine,” Izuku croaked, his voice raspy for some unknown reason.
“Should I stop?”
That brought Izuku back to Earth with a grinding halt. “No! I’m fine, really.”
Katsuki studied him for a second longer before nodding. “Fine. Next is the bite. ...This’ll probably hurt.”
The Omega couldn’t help but tense his shoulders as he nodded. Izuku craned his neck even further toward his right shoulder, but Katsuki still had to pull at the neckline of Izuku’s shirt to reveal more of his skin.
Time waited hand-and-foot on Katsuki; speeding up the Alpha’s hesitation and slowing down the seconds before he latched onto Izuku’s scent gland with his suddenly sharp canines. And then it stopped.
Everything stopped.
Izuku felt his skin break, felt the prick of pain that came with it, but then he felt nothing. Until he felt everything.
Uncertainty, anxiety, worry, and regret. Words unsaid, words unheard, words that didn’t even exist yet. Izuku saw sunshine and rain drops and destruction. He felt electricity travel on his skin, the recognizable embrace of One-For-All, while heat seared without pain in his palms. But all he heard was Kacchan.
“Deku!”
“De-ku.”
“Deku!”
The pitch and intonation changed, but the voice never did. His nickname surrounded Izuku until it became him, or he became it. Izuku wasn’t sure it mattered.
A wave of certainty, security, pulsated throughout his body, starting first at his neck before reaching out in all directions. And when it finished, he still only heard Kacchan.
“Deku! Oi, nerd, answer me! Are you ok? Fuck, Deku, what is going on?”
Izuku cocked his head, his eyes barely seeing beneath his half-closed eyelids. Katsuki was still right on top of him, his mouth twisted in a scowl, but his eyes frantic in a way Izuku hadn’t seen since high school. Kacchan shouldn’t be afraid. Izuku was a Pro-Hero; so he did what he always did when someone was scared.
A smile broke across his face, making Katsuki freeze. They were still so close. Kacchan’s face was only a few inches away. Izuku knew he wasn’t saying anything; he could see that his lips weren’t moving. But he heard the words anyway.
"You gonna kiss me?”
|
It is difficult at first. Of course it is. Even with the protection of this country’s government—there’s the surveillance teams, and an agent who checks in on them at least once a week—it still feels like they have to look over their shoulders all the time. It is worse, Jaime feels, that they are given a place to live in the country’s second largest city. It’s in a less populated part of the second largest city, but it is a city, and there are people everywhere, and you never know.
(And fuck, it is difficult, and he just wants something of their old life to hold onto—something of the good parts. So he is going to call himself Jaime if he feels like it, and he is going to call his wife Brienne if he feels like it, and they are going to call their children Myrcella, and Tommen, and Pod, and Sansa—Sansa, not Alayne—if they fucking feel like it. Their new names are not covers for them to maintain. Not in the way the Centre had ordered them to do so in that past life, the way the Centre had told them to forget everything from before and never speak of it again. They won’t live by the Centre’s rules any longer.
They will only use these names with each other, though. And there will be no Lannister, no Payne, no Stark. It is difficult, and he wants something to hold onto, but he isn’t stupid.)
Sometimes, Jaime feels bad for thinking it is difficult. They can’t complain about the apartment they were provided, even if there is nothing in particular to praise about it either. It’s a roof over their heads, and that’s more than can be said for a lot of people in this world. It might be smaller than their old house overall, but it’s certainly large enough to accommodate all six of them—it has four rooms instead of three, so Pod gets his own room again, and Sansa too. And there’s a bunk bed for the twins, which they like, and don’t fight over. Myrcella had wanted to sleep up top from the moment she’d set eyes on it, and Tommen prefers the bottom bunk so it would be easier for him to tend to Bear, though the cat has no issues exploring the higher realms of their room every now and then.
But Jaime and Brienne’s bed is… well, it’s a bed for two people. It’s not this government’s fault that they are two people who are taller than average. He reminds himself that they were both trained to sleep in places much worse than a too-small bed, and there isn’t much space in their room for a bed any larger than that, anyhow. Yet, every morning he wakes up with a crick in his neck, and turns to see a furrow in Brienne’s brow. His wife is far too polite and grateful and good to say I hate this too-small bed in this too-small room, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining things when he observes that her tone in the mornings is always two notches shy of grumpy. He doesn’t think he’s imagining things when he observes that there’s not much Brienne does to make the apartment theirs. He knows she’s used to living simply, and of course he doesn’t expect her to do anything, but even in their past life, she’d pick up some flowers for their living room every couple of weeks, or gods, install a shelf or something if she felt the house needed one. She doesn’t do any of that here, though they were told that they could.
(There’s also hardly any room to spar. There’s no use for sparring anymore, but they want to, and they miss it, and there isn’t room.)
Then, there is the issue of schools. First, Pod is told he’d have to do a whole extra year of high school, possibly one and a half, because they have an entirely different curriculum here. It is ridiculous, because the boy is clever—he knows six languages, and fine, Jaime remembers once calling him daft, but they’d trained more than enough common sense into him over the years. He is much smarter than his classmates, Jaime reckons, even if the boy is too nice to say it, and now they’re saying he has to do one and a half years when he’d only had a couple months left before graduating. And Sansa—hells, the girl wouldn’t even go back to school at all. She says she doesn’t feel ready, and Jaime can’t say he blames her considering she’d first met Joffrey in a coffee shop where she was studying, and he’d gone on to—
Anyway. He can’t say he blames her. Now, she spends her days between their apartment and the library—at least they have a decent-sized one nearby—and promises to let them know when she’s ready. That day hasn’t come yet.
As for Myrcella and Tommen, that’s a whole other story. Their teacher comes up to him one day when he drops them off at school, says that they seem to manage their work fine, but they don’t seem interested in making any friends, won’t interact with anyone but each other unless they need to. She asks if Jaime knows why that is, and he only shakes his head and says he’ll talk to his wife, because he can’t possibly tell her the truth—that their children were whisked away from everything they’d ever known with barely a week’s notice, with no chance to say goodbye, and are now afraid of getting too attached to anyone that they might then have to part from at some indeterminate point in the future.
But as withdrawn as they are reported to be at school, they are the exact opposite at home. They’ve become more—he doesn’t want to describe them as clingy, yet that’s exactly what they are, and what they have every right to be. They’re that way with him and Brienne, and with Pod, and even with Sansa, and while it isn’t necessarily unwelcome, it’s just… it’s as if the twins are acting this way out of some fear that the ground will fall apart beneath their feet. Which it already did, once.
Still, maybe it isn’t difficult, Jaime tries to convince himself. Maybe it’s just an adjustment period. This government is good to them, for the most part—it provides a roof over their heads, and schools for their children, and a decent enough stipend every month to cover their living expenses. It’s not a huge sum, not compared to how much his father had provided for their family in their past life, but Brienne manages it well, and they haven’t had to touch the cash they brought with them. She even saves some money here and there, all while keeping four children and one cat fed, and Jaime has to marvel at it. He’s never had the first idea about saving money—there was never any need to do it.
It’s generous, this stipend, more generous considering they aren’t expected to do anything besides laying low. But damn if they aren’t being driven mad with nothing to do. Nonetheless, it isn’t wise for them to just walk out there and get a job, and in any case, what paper qualifications do they have? All these years of training, and experience, and they don’t have anything to show for it in the real world, no certificates or references or connections. They would be qualified for a whole lot more, Jaime thinks, if they could waltz into a place with espionage written on their resumé. But they can’t do that.
Until the agent that checks on them once a week asks if they would come into the office the following day.
The office, he’d called it. Just like they’d referred to that unit that masqueraded as their travel agency. But he had said the words like he was describing the sterile premises of some run-of-the-mill accounting firm, not this government’s intelligence organisation. Tyrion told them there was no expectation that they should work for this organisation, and he was right, to a certain extent. That day, it is made clear that while they are under no obligation to reveal anything they know—they wouldn’t lose their apartment, or their living expenses, as some form of retaliation—it would certainly be very helpful if they could answer a few questions. It isn’t expected, but it would be helpful, and Jaime doesn’t like the way they say the word helpful. Think about it, they say, and he doesn’t like the way they say that either. It is, however, a job that he qualifies for with a resumé that says espionage.
He discusses it with Brienne in their too-small bedroom that night, though he already knows how she’ll feel about it. Her position regarding the Centre might have been drastically altered, but as for the Cause itself, in its purest form, there is still a part of her that believes in it deeply. No matter how she twists it, the organisation’s request won’t sit well with her—it would still feel like a betrayal of their country, of her principles. Jaime has little of such qualms, however—it’s become clear in his mind, after all these years, where to draw the lines between Centre, Cause, country, family—so he suggests that he do it alone. He knows most of what she knows, anyway, and much more than that from his life before her. In fact, he’d guessed in that office today that what they’d really wanted was the information he had, as the elder son of the General, and they’d only asked Brienne to come as a courtesy.
“It’d be good to have some leverage,” he tells her, as he paces about, swinging his prosthetic by its straps as he goes. “To remind them of our value, if we want something else from them down the road.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she mumbles, hugging her knees to herself where she’s sitting on their too-small bed.
He stops, and turns to face her. “As long as you won’t hate me for doing it.”
“Jaime,” she says, lifting her head sharply. “I’m only worried that this will put you in some kind of danger. What’s the point in coming all this way only to expose ourselves?”
“Fair. All the more reason to show them we’re worth protecting, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” she repeats, putting her chin between her knees.
He places his prosthetic on the dresser behind him. “You’re sure you won’t look at me and think I’m a traitor?”
Brienne stares at him like he’s just said the most nonsensical thing she’s ever heard, which makes Jaime feel slightly bruised. It really isn’t that nonsensical, considering how she used to watch him before he told her about Targaryen, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He still remembers it. She opens her mouth as if to argue, then closes it again, and—something shifts in her face. He observes her as she stretches her legs—bare, long—and sits back into her pillow. “If I do,” she half drawls, tilting her head, “then I guess you’ll just have to make me forget it.”
“How would you propose I do that, wife?” he asks, walking slowly towards her.
“Oh,” she replies, one finger twirling in her hair, which she’s grown out almost to her shoulders already. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out, husband.”
Too-small beds are still good for some things.
And so it is, that whenever the agent asks Jaime to come into the office, he does. They call it consulting, and it’s not too bad, really—they hardly ever ask him questions about topics that make him truly uncomfortable, probably because they don’t have the intelligence in the first place to even compose those questions. Or perhaps they already know the answers. Regardless, if there is ever anything he feels better withholding, it’s not as if he can’t just… withhold it. Particularly if he doesn’t think it’ll do them much good to have that knowledge. He only hopes that what he does give them will actually go some way to stopping this war, like his brother said they hoped to do.
One day, a few weeks in, Jaime decides to ask them a question of his own. He grits his teeth, preparing himself for the answer, and asks, is my brother okay? But they only shake their heads and say they’re not at liberty to disclose that information.
He doesn’t ask them again after that.
That’s how it goes for almost a year. Alright, so it might not be ideal, but it’s fine, isn’t it? Two nights before they’d left it all behind, the twins had asked them if everything would be fine, and it is. They have a roof over their heads, and at least three of the children are in school, and they have their living expenses taken care of. But Jaime lies awake some nights, and thinks that besides being fine, it is also difficult. Hells, he’ll even allow himself to think they’re fucking miserable, then feel guilty for thinking it, then feel indignant that he feels guilty about thinking they’re miserable when he can’t honestly say that any one of them is truly happy. They might be safe, and together—and there is no sleeping-with, or lying-to, or killing-of anybody—but they aren’t happy.
So, ten months in, and desperate for something other than this damn apartment in this damn city, Jaime brings his family to the beach.
Well, his family, and one agent. It’s someone new, not the usual guy they send to check on them, and she doesn’t seem all that pleased to be accompanying them. He’s not sure if they sent her to protect their family, or to prevent them from escaping. If it’s the former, he’s pretty sure he and Brienne and even Pod will do a better job than she can. If it’s the latter, she doesn’t have a chance in all the seven hells against Brienne one-on-one. Still, the organisation had insisted that she tag along. She drives her own car at least, which means they don’t have to endure an awkward two-hour journey with a stranger in the vehicle, though she tails them so closely that Jaime almost feels her presence in their car anyway.
Agent or not—it’s nice, this beach. Not as nice as the one they’d visited the weekend he and Brienne said their vows, and it’s certainly more crowded, but it’s nice enough. It’s also near enough that they could drive here and back within a day, and even though they’ll be exhausted by the end of it, Jaime wonders why he never thought to do this sooner. He will never get over his hatred of sand, but he will always enjoy watching his family be happy, and Brienne looks just that with Myrcella in her arms. Even Tommen is brave enough today to join his mother and sister among the waves, his own dislike for sand be damned. And Pod and Sansa—well. Nothing has come of Pod’s crush, still, which Jaime thinks is for the best given what Sansa has endured. But as he watches them stroll along the shore, he thinks maybe she smiles at Pod a little differently now. Not just out of gratitude, or friendship.
Once he’s had his fill of sand and sea, Jaime walks towards a shaded path nearby, where there’s a stone bench on which he can sit and watch the water. He casts his eyes over the horizon, and lets them rest on an island just visible from the shore.
“Hey,” he says, calling the agent over from where she’s standing a little way off. “That island over there. People live there?”
“Sure do. About a thousand, I think?”
Huh. “More than I expected.”
“It’s nice. Quaint. I wouldn’t be able to live all the way over there, though, city girl like me.”
“Is it that far off from the mainland?”
“Not really. Maybe thirty minutes by ferry. Forty, tops. But that’s just between there and the coast, and then there’s the two-hour drive to the city. That’d be too much for me, personally.”
It doesn’t sound like too much to Jaime at all. It sounds perfect. He thinks on it for a few days, makes some inquiries when he’s next in the office, finds out that the organisation does have access to one property large enough for the family on the island, although it’s a bit of a fixer-upper. He says he’ll speak to his wife, but informs them that he has every intention of moving his whole family there and paying for the renovations himself if he has to, then assures them if they need him to do any consulting—they need him less and less now—he’ll make the trip over whenever they call.
“You can’t be serious,” Brienne says, when he tells her in bed the next night. “You want to uproot this entire family again, after we’ve spent this long settling in—”
“We’re hardly settled in, wife, even though it’s been almost a year, and the kids aren’t happy—”
“They need stability, Jaime.”
“Damn it, Brienne, this isn’t stability. It’s barely a home, and you know it.”
She doesn’t respond. He knows she knows he’s right.
“You’re telling me,” he says, reaching over to grasp her hand, “that given a choice, you wouldn’t want to live on an island again? Surrounded by the sea?”
She retracts her hand, though he sees a flash of yearning in her eyes. “You’re not playing fair.”
“How about this,” he grins, and wraps her in his arms, “we bring the whole family over for a weekend, go see this house, make a trip out of it?”
Brienne fixes him with a pointed stare. “And we won’t make a decision without consulting the whole family.”
“We won’t.”
So, it’s two weekends later, and they’re boarding a ferry to the island. It departs from a point further north than the beach they’d visited a few weeks before, though it was still a two-hour drive from their apartment. But Myrcella and Tommen were so excited by the prospect of crossing the sea for the first time that they didn’t mind the long car ride at all. The twins stay out on the deck for the duration of the trip across the water, endlessly fascinated by the blue of the seas, by the island drawing closer and closer, and the mainland drifting further and further away. At one point, they run up to Jaime and pull on his arm and swear that they saw dolphins, and he feels inclined to believe them even though he can’t spot any himself.
Pod and Sansa spend the whole time sitting on a bench at the bow of the boat, speaking and laughing softly to each other. Sansa’s auburn hair—it’s back to auburn now, though much shorter than before—flutters in the wind prettily, in a way that an eighteen-year-old boy would find mesmerising even if he wasn’t already half in love with her. It’s so sweet that when Jaime sits down with Brienne next to them, he can’t help but comment offhandedly, “Romantic, isn’t it?” And he knows even without looking that the two teenagers blush, and shift a little bit further apart, and try their hardest to look everywhere else but at each other. Brienne smacks him on the arm, though she too lets the corner of her mouth curl upwards, and Jaime has no choice but to lean over and kiss her right there.
Thankfully, he’d managed to convince the organisation that it really wasn’t necessary to send an agent along this time. In any case, they’d arranged to meet the caretaker of the property, a native of the island who also happens to be an agent too, albeit a former one, five years retired. The grizzled man talks little as he drives Jaime and the twins—with Brienne and Pod and Sansa following behind in a rental car—through the town centre, past the farms and the meadows and the streams and the low hills, and all the while the sea is just there. Jaime looks at the twins’ faces in the rearview mirror, and gods, they look so happy, just from the drive. He wants them to look like that all the time.
They reach the far end of the island—at least, that’s what Jaime gathers, because the caretaker makes no effort to describe it—and they turn down a nondescript tree-lined dirt road that leads to a grove, and beyond that grove is—
A house. A two-storey house, with vines overrunning its walls, and a front yard bursting with weeds and wildflowers alike, bordered by a low stone wall, mossy. Nested in that wall is a simple wooden gate that opens onto a gravel path leading up to the front door. That door looks like it could use a fresh coat of paint, but besides that…
“It’s not much,” the caretaker says gruffly when they’re all gathered at the gate, “but it might be big enough for all of you.”
Jaime feels Brienne slip her hand into his as they walk up to the house.
“This is it,” he whispers.
“Hmm,” she replies, in a way that would sound noncommittal to anyone’s ears but his.
Jaime had been preparing himself for something utterly rundown on the inside, but when they step through the door, what they see is better than he’d dared hope. It’s barely furnished, yes, and some of the existing fittings need updating, but it’s serviceable enough that it won’t need a massive overhaul. The ground floor is divided into two sections: the larger section is empty save for a small dining table and two plastic chairs, but they could divide it into a living and a dining area, and there’s a proper kitchen towards the back of the house; the smaller section, through a door on the left, seems meant to be a sitting room of sorts, but could easily be converted into a bedroom if they need the space. It even has a small bathroom attached.
“Three rooms upstairs,” the caretaker says, interrupting Jaime’s thoughts of large-enough bedrooms with large-enough beds. The twins are already rushing up the wooden stairs before the man can continue with, “all empty except for a bed in one”. As Jaime is poking his head into the first two rooms—all decently-sized, though he feels a draft in the second room that he’ll have to investigate—he hears Myrcella call for him from the third.
“Dad, come look,” she says, pointing out the window, and he walks over to see a smaller building in the backyard, similarly overrun with vines, a tiny version of the house they’re standing in now.
“Garden shed,” offers the caretaker. It really looks much nicer, at least on the outside, than the word shed suggests. When they head down and out the back door to investigate further, they see a flash of what Jaime thinks is a ginger tabby running across the yard.
“A stray.” The caretaker again. “She comes and goes as she pleases.”
Jaime shares a look with Tommen, and almost bursts out laughing at his son’s wide-eyed eagerness. That’s Tommen’s decision made, then. Perhaps the stray won’t be a stray for much longer.
It’s Pod who enters the shed first, then the rest of the family. All seven of them including the caretaker fit in there just fine, even with the gardening tools that look like they haven’t been used in years. It is too nice to be just a shed, and once they clear it out there should be space for a single bed, maybe even something slightly larger, and then some. They’ll have to swap the door out for something sturdier, and maybe tile the floor, but it could work as a little house, even if the person who lives here will have to go into the house to use the bathroom. So Jaime slaps Pod on the back and says, “Bachelor pad?”
And Pod sputters, and blushes, and Jaime can’t figure out if the boy is embarrassed because they’ve offered him a space of his own, or because Jaime had called him a bachelor, or because his idea of a bachelor pad is a library all to himself and he’s already filling this room with books in his mind, until Jaime follows Pod’s line of sight out the shed’s small window to where Sansa has wandered into the yard. In the sunlight, she looks ethereal—peaceful, more peaceful than she’s looked in months—surrounded by all those weeds and wildflowers, and oh, perhaps Pod doesn’t quite see the appeal in being a bachelor after all.
“How far are we from the sea?” Brienne asks when they’re back in the main house. “Seems like we’re pretty far inland.” For good reason, Jaime thinks, if this house has been used as a safe house—away from the shore, and the town centre, and any nosy neighbours, as far as he can tell.
“Might seem like it,” the caretaker replies, “but it’s maybe a twenty minute walk? Thirty if you stroll.”
So they stroll. Jaime tells the caretaker that they’ll meet him back in the town centre—they’ll have to squeeze into the rental car on the way back, but he wants his family to have the time to explore—and the man shrugs, mumbles something about going to the pub, and takes off. They’re through the grove and out into a meadow before Jaime realises he forgot to ask for directions, but Brienne tugs on his arm and points out a lighthouse in the distance. Well, where there’s a lighthouse, there must be a sea.
“Can we really move here, Dad?” Myrcella asks along the way.
“We can, if everyone agrees. There’s a lot of work we’ll need to do on the house, though.”
“I’ll help!”
“You will?”
She nods, but skips up front with Tommen before she can explain exactly how she plans to help.
They reach a cliff’s edge not far off from the lighthouse, from which they can see a path leading down to a small beach. This beach isn’t as nice as the one they’d visited the weekend he and Brienne said their vows, and it isn’t even as nice as the one they’d visited a few weeks before, but Jaime already knows this will be his favourite of the three, because it’ll be theirs. While the twins are dragging Pod and Sansa in the direction of the path, he and Brienne stay at the cliff’s edge, observing the pristine blue waters together.
“I like this,” he murmurs. “The sea from the top of a cliff. No sand involved.”
Brienne lets out a laugh, and tucks both her arms tighter around his right bicep. “This is it,” she says, quietly, and puts her head on his shoulder. They watch the waves in silence for a while, until he feels a slight wetness through his shirt.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, putting his left hand over hers where it grips his elbow.
“Nothing.” She lifts her head, and out of the corner of his eye, Jaime sees her bring a hand to her cheek. “Just thinking about my father, that’s all.”
Some echo of a memory surfaces in his mind, something he thought he’d long forgotten, and he wonders now if it might actually help her. “What if we—we dedicated something to him?” he suggests, turning to face her.
“What do you mean?”
Jaime sighs. “My mother—when she passed, my father had her buried at my family home. And you know how we were hardly ever there, because my father wanted us at our house in the capital most of the time. So, when I was a child, and I, I needed to be alone. I would go into the garden, to this one tree that I knew she liked. And pretend it was her grave. Or maybe I pretended it was her, I don’t know, I was eight years old and stupid—” that’s what Father had said—
“Jaime.” Brienne puts a hand to his cheek.
“My point is,” he goes on, shaking away that other memory he thought he’d long forgotten too. “It helped. To have something to—to focus all my sadness on. Even though she wasn’t there. Maybe we could do that for your father too. Does that make sense?”
She nods, and another tear escapes her eye. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” he replies, and kisses her cheek where the tear had fallen.
On their way back to the house, with the twins and Pod trailing behind them, Brienne catches Sansa by the arm. “I know everyone seems on board with this,” she says, “but you have as much say as any of us. If this doesn’t work for you—”
“No!” Sansa replies in alarm, “I mean—I mean, yes! I’m on board.”
“You’re sure?”
She nods. “It feels good. Feels like a fresh start.”
It does.
It’s still two months before they’re able to move into the house. There is no need for any major repairs—the draft in the second bedroom turns out to be the result of a faulty window, easily fixed—but they’ll have to renovate the bathrooms and Pod’s little house at least, for which Jaime hires a contractor as soon as he can. They need furniture too, for the entire place—some shipped over from the mainland, others commissioned from a local carpenter. The government agrees only to relocate them to the property, so these are all additional costs that they will need to shoulder.
To save some money, they decide to do what they can themselves—cleaning the house and clearing the garden, for example. So, a few days before the furniture is due to arrive, and with the renovations all but complete, they take the ferry over to the island with all their belongings—the amount of which had barely increased since they’d boarded that train a year ago—and put themselves up at a bed and breakfast in the town centre. Then, all six of them head to the house each day and scrub it from top to bottom. They get rid of all the weeds in the front garden and the backyard, and construct a small pile of rocks amidst the wildflowers to serve as Brienne’s father’s memorial. And they even give the front door its long overdue coat of paint—blue, they decide together.
By the next week, it’s all starting to feel like home. Even to Bear, who had spent the days in the bed and breakfast hiding under Tommen’s bed. The cat seemed overwhelmed, at first, by the increase in his territory—Myrcella and Tommen have their own rooms for the first time in their lives, Sansa’s in the room overlooking Pod’s little house out back, Jaime and Brienne have the converted sitting room on the ground floor, and then there’s the gardens and the grove and the meadow beyond. But each day Bear seems to find a new spot to curl up in and observe this new world of his. He’s even met the stray—or watched her cautiously from afar when she came to investigate the food Tommen had left out for her.
Fortunately, in those two months before the move, Pod finally graduated high school. He tells Jaime and Brienne that he wants a year or two off before even considering university, though his teachers say he has a good shot at a scholarship. He offers, instead, to help with homeschooling the twins, and tutoring Sansa too. When he hears this, Jaime has to breathe a sigh of relief—they’d decided to try homeschooling for the next year or two, but he was already feeling severely out of his depth at just the prospect of it, considering neither he nor Brienne had had much of a traditional education. What skills and knowledge they do possess aren’t quite appropriate for imparting to their children (though the thought of teaching Myrcella to spar fills Jaime with some glee), so it’ll be good to have someone academically inclined on the team. Brienne, however, worries that they might be taking advantage of Pod—we basically used him as a babysitter for four years, Jaime—until Jaime mentions that perhaps, perhaps Pod might not want to be leaving this island so soon, given that a certain occupant of the property—a certain auburn-haired occupant whose room overlooks his little house—would be here for the next two or even three years. Alright, Brienne concedes, but that doesn’t mean one or both of us shouldn’t be present at all their lessons, now that we have the time.
And yes, of course everything still takes some getting used to. It’s a life that is nothing like any of them has ever experienced. But it feels far more like home here than their last apartment ever did. Maybe it even feels more like home than their old three-bedroom house. This island doesn’t have any arcades, or playgrounds, or nice restaurants with valet parking, or museums with armour displays—all things they had enjoyed in their past life. But there’s the meadows and the sea and the beach, and Myrcella makes friends with the lighthouse keeper’s daughter who lets her climb all the way to the top, and there’s a lovely bookstore in town that Pod and Sansa spend all their time in, and Tommen seems to have finally tamed the ginger tabby and named her Joanna, just because he thinks it’s a pretty name.
Here, on this island with a population of one thousand people, far away from any city, they let themselves go by Jaime, and Brienne, and Pod, and Sansa, and Myrcella, and Tommen—even if they still can’t use the names Lannister, or Payne, or Stark. As for any contact with the organisation, the caretaker—who no longer has to do much caretaking, really—comes to check on them once a week. Jaime travels to the mainland occasionally to consult, which is pretty much the only reason he ever puts on his prosthetic now. And they still receive their stipend every month, which Brienne is able to stretch further and save more of now that they can live more simply. She even starts befriending and running errands for the townsfolk, who enjoy rewarding her efforts with produce and the like. She arrives home, bewildered, with five live chickens one day—well, she tells him they are still quite young, not that Jaime has a clue about these things—and they have to set about building a proper coop for them. But once they’ve settled the chickens in, their household has a steady supply of eggs. Eggs. Ten years ago, Jaime could never have imagined living a life in which he had a steady supply of eggs without having to buy them.
And, gods—there’s space here. Space to spar, with no one to see or question them. Once, while out on a walk, Jaime and Brienne discover another grove with a creek running through it, and a clearing in the middle that is perfect for sparring—because why not, why not look around them and think, yes, this is where I’d like to feel alive—and Jaime doesn’t even need to look at his wife to know that she’s thinking the same, and soon their limbs are entangled and then their bodies are on the ground and Jaime can hear the sound of their breaths bouncing between the trees and yes, this is how we feel alive.
Later that night—all the sweat washed off them, and their clothes drying off, because of course Brienne couldn’t resist the urge to send Jaime into the creek, and of course he couldn’t resist the urge to pull her in with him—he buries himself inside her as they move and sigh together in their large-enough bed, and ah, Jaime, she gasps, except it isn’t Jaime that she’d breathed, but his birth name. And he stops, and she stops, and she says should I not in their mother tongue, and he replies with no, you absolutely should, because those sounds hadn’t felt altogether unwelcome, though it had been strange to hear it from her lips. Strange, but not bad, and he calls her by her name in return, whispers it on the skin of her cheek, her neck, as he reaches down between them to where they are joined. Her name, his fingers, his cock—he doesn’t care which makes her shudder most, shudder with what feels to him like an intensity that goes deep as bone. Even after he’s found his release, he moves down her body and puts his lips on her, whispers her name between her thighs whenever he comes up for air—which he just so happens to have to do every time she’s about to peak, and honestly, he is half expecting her to knee him in the face for trying this, but she doesn’t, only whimpers his birth name in the weakest form of protest—until finally she’s shuddering again and again and the intensity is, perhaps, soul-deep this time.
“Seven fucking hells,” Brienne exhales, her chest heaving, and he has to laugh at how he recognises the phrase.
“That was what you said the first time I did that to you, wife,” he says, flopping himself onto the bed beside her. “Just… in a different language.”
She doesn’t respond, only blushes like she used to in their past life. He understands: in its own way, it had felt like a first time. They don’t do it often, after tonight—speak in their mother tongue, refer to each other by their birth names, in bed or otherwise. But it’s nice, when they do. Better than nice. A secret part of themselves that they can access just for each other, if they choose.
A few months in, while Jaime is taking a break from gardening—gardening, because he gardens now—he heads to Pod’s little house for a visit. Between the bed and the bookshelves and the small desk, there really isn’t much space to accommodate visitors, so Jaime settles himself into the chair at the desk while Pod sits cross-legged on the bed. They chat for a while, about how the twins are getting on with their work, and the new books that have come into the bookstore this week, but Jaime starts getting the odd feeling that there’s something else Pod desperately wants to talk about.
“Alright, out with it,” he declares.
“Out with—with what?” Pod says nervously.
Jaime just gives him a look, and Pod sighs and puts his chin in his hands.
“You—you and Brienne. You didn’t… love each other. At the start. Did you?”
Ah. Sansa. Jaime leans back in his chair. “No, we didn’t.”
“How did you,” Pod puts his fingers together. “How did it… happen?”
How did it happen? It feels so long ago now, and Jaime can’t quite remember what it felt like not to love her. “I don’t know if there was really a how, Pod. It was just this—this natural progression of sharing our lives. Of trusting and respecting each other. We had that long before we fell in love.”
“Oh… but how did you go from, from that, to—”
“Oh—well—” my wife is going to kill me— “Well, don’t tell Brienne I told you, but… I’d say it all started when she asked if we could touch more. I mean,” he corrects, when Pod’s eyes go wide, “she intended it to be more of a… a front, really. To make things between us more believable to the twins.”
Technically, it might have started when he’d killed Renly Baratheon for her. But Pod doesn’t need to know that.
“She asked you?”
Jaime nods. “And things just kind of—spiralled from there. Oh, and I got her a gift, too.”
“What kind of gift?”
An entire person. Briefly, Jaime wonders if Goodwin is doing okay back in their country. “I found her someone she knew from back home,” he says, before his mind can wander too close to thoughts of Pia.
“Oh.” Pod’s face falls. “I can’t do that,” he mutters under his breath.
Jaime recalls the last time he had seen Cersei in that motel room, and what Brienne had done after. “I—I also showed her that I would choose my life with her. Over any alternative.” He recalls how he had held Brienne in the shower, when Ronnet Connington was locked in the trunk of their car. “Even if she showed me the most vulnerable parts of her.”
“Oh,” Pod says again, frowning. “That all sounds—I, I don’t know how I can—”
“Maybe, Pod, it’s as simple as asking.” That was what Brienne had done, wasn’t it? She had asked him, and he had kissed her, even if she hadn’t specifically asked him to kiss her.
“What if it’s not the right time—or—”
“Only one way to find out.” Jaime stands from the chair, walks over to Pod and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve given her time, Pod. If you ask, and she says no, then we figure it out from there.”
Pod sighs. “Alright. Thanks, Dad.”
And then Pod stiffens, and goes red, and Jaime has the distinct feeling that the boy would rather be anywhere else but in this little house with the man he’d just called ‘dad’ for the first time. But Jaime just pats him on the shoulder, says “Good luck, son,” and tries to suppress the spring in his step as he makes his way back to the house, where Brienne is just getting started on making dinner.
“Hey,” he says, leaning on the kitchen counter, “guess what just happened.”
“What?” she replies absently, more focused on chopping up the garlic than anything.
“Pod just called me ‘dad’,” he announces, proudly.
“Oh!” Brienne puts down the knife, and looks at him brightly. “That’s wonderful!”
Except there’s something in her that’s wonderful that sounds remarkably forced. “You don’t sound very… surprised.”
She sighs, and wrinkles her nose. “Promise me you won’t get mad.”
“That depends on what it is you think I’ll be mad about.”
It comes out in a rush. “Pod… might have called me Mum a couple of times these past few months.”
“What?” Jaime pokes a finger into her ribs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to get jealous! And I’m still not sure if he’d meant to do it.”
“I wouldn’t have gotten jealous,” Jaime pouts. Alright, he might have. But that doesn’t mean Brienne shouldn’t be telling him these things. He folds his arms and tries to compose as stern an expression as he can. “Well, what else have you been keeping from me, wife?”
She smirks, and beckons him closer with a finger. “There’s something I need to confess,” she whispers, once he’s right up next to her, “I was once a spy.”
Jaime just huffs, still sore that she never told him about Pod. “Anyway. He was asking me for advice about Sansa.”
“He was asking you?” She raises an eyebrow at him.
He nudges her with his stump. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” Brienne picks up the knife and starts chopping again.
“Nothing,” he repeats.
She puts the knife back down. “I’m just saying. It’s not like you’ve had any conventional relationship experience, Jaime.”
How dare she? Jaime thinks, though he can only flail his stump wildly between them.
“I said conventional.”
“I don’t think anything about them is conventional.”
“True,” she admits. “So what did you say?”
“I said he should just ask.”
“Interesting.”
Oh, he’s up to here with Brienne’s cryptic statements. “What now?”
She shrugs. “You did a lot of things without asking me first. Kiss me—”
“You asked me to touch you.”
“I didn’t say to do it right then.”
“So you didn’t want me to kiss you?”
“I didn’t realise that I did till after. And then you switched our handlers—”
“Ha, that made you kiss me—”
“Then you dragged me into a confrontation with your ex who also happens to be your cousin—”
“And what happened on the couch after that?”
She bites her lip, and oh, he knows her mind is back on that couch again. His mind is back on that couch again, how she’d given him those rules to follow.
“You know,” Jaime teases, stroking the back of his fingers down her arm. “We never did go very far with that whole rules thing.”
She sidles away from his hand, and stares down at the chopping board. “I don’t know what you mean,” she mumbles.
He thinks she knows exactly what he means, but he’ll explain it if he must. “Rules—the things we tell each other that we can, or cannot do—they can be… helpful… for so much more than just protection.”
Brienne clears her throat, and picks up the knife again. “We’ll continue this discussion after dinner.”
They’ll continue it in their large-enough bed, Jaime hopes, as he makes his way back out to the garden again.
A week passes, then another, and nothing between Pod and Sansa seems to have changed. But when they’re about to head out of the house one afternoon, and Jaime asks, casually, if they’re going to the bookstore, Pod shakes his head. “We’re—we’re going to explore the ruins. On the—the other side of the island.” And this wouldn’t seem particularly interesting to Jaime, except Pod’s face is red, and then Jaime looks at Sansa and now it’s doubly interesting because her face is red too, as if she knows what’s coming, and then it’s ten times more interesting because when Myrcella and Tommen ask if they can come too, both Pod and Sansa say no! with more vehemence than is really necessary, and Jaime has to assure the twins that he’ll bring them exploring tomorrow.
Just as the sun is setting, Jaime looks out the front window to see Pod and Sansa coming through the grove, and, if his eyes aren’t failing him, they’re walking hand-in-hand. He catches Brienne’s eye, tipping his head towards the window, and she comes over and wraps her arms around his waist.
“Ah, young love,” he says, wistfully.
“Hmm.” Brienne rests her head on his shoulder. “I think there’s something to be said for old love too.”
“Are you calling me old again?”
“Did I say I was talking about us?”
“Who else would you be talking about?”
“Who knows how old Joanna is,” she says, just as the cat walks through their front yard with Bear close behind. “She could be ancient. But she seems to like our Bear well enough now.”
Jaime squints through the window. “Is it just me, or is she putting on weight?”
“Well, Tommen’s feeding her—” and then Brienne stops. “Oh no.”
“Seven hells,” Jaime sighs. “There’s a vet on this island, I hope?”
“One.”
“We’re getting them both fixed after this.”
‘This’ turns out to be two kittens born a month later—two female tortoiseshells (you don’t need to say they’re female, Daddy, lectures Tommen, because pretty much all torties are female). Tommen offers to let Myrcella name them, and she decides on Alysanne and Arianne, the names of twin sisters from one of her books. Jaime watches as Bear sniffs at his offspring curiously, and thinks, Joanna, Alysanne, Arianne. All sensible, if overly human names. And you got stuck with Bear. Not that any of the cats would care what their names are, as long as they have something good to eat, and someplace warm to sleep.
Here they are, then. Safe, and together, and happy. Two adults, two teenagers, two children, four cats, and fine, Jaime will include the five chickens too. There’s something in it that feels undeserved—why should they get to be happy, with all the things they’ve done? Why shouldn’t they be punished?—but he tries not to dwell on it too often. We were fighting in a war, Jaime, Brienne tells him. It doesn’t make it right, or fair. But we were on a battlefield, even if it didn’t feel like it. And they were. They were fighting in a decades-long war that, even today, neither side wants to call a war.
Then, three years later, the war ends.
In truth, Jaime hadn’t expected it at all. It had been going on for so long that he could sometimes wake up in the mornings—especially here, in a fairly remote part of a fairly remote island in a country that maintains a policy of neutrality—and not remember that it was still happening. Then he picks up the newspaper one day and—there it is. Front page news. The war is over.
He wonders if any one of their operations influenced that, even just a little bit.
After the war, life, for them, doesn’t change. They have no desire to go back home any longer, even if the borders are open now. In any case, who knows what remnants of the Centre might still be searching for them. They do decide, however, that it might finally be time to tell the twins what country they are really from. What kind of job they did. Why Pod came to live with them, and Sansa too. Not all the grisly details—they’ve only just turned fourteen—but enough.
Again—just like how it was four years ago when they told the twins they needed to leave—Myrcella doesn’t speak to them for days. But this time, she’s at least able to tell them that she just needs time. On the fourth day, she comes to their room, and asks them to speak their language. We love you very much, Brienne says, and Myrcella bursts into tears upon hearing these unfamiliar sounds from her mother’s lips, although it conveyed what should have been a familiar sentiment.
“Even when I was young,” she manages to say, once she’s calmed down. “Back in our old country. I was always… conscious, of what they would say. That you, that—that we, were evil.”
“It was a war, honey,” Jaime replies, and brings her into his arms. “There’s hatred on all sides. We were taught that the other side was evil too.”
They let things sit for a couple of months, and don’t bring it up again except to answer any questions the twins have for them. Then, Jaime decides:
“We’re all going to learn how to fight.”
It’s for self-defence only, he warns them. Pod had already taught Sansa some moves—she’d started working at the bookstore a couple days a week, and sometimes alone, so it made her feel safer—but now they are going to learn as a family. It’s surprisingly enjoyable, not anything like the harsh training regimes that Jaime and Brienne had been subjected to, and Myrcella takes to it so brilliantly that Jaime wishes they could have started it sooner. And how would we have explained it to the twins? Brienne reminds him, and she’s right. At least they’re making up for lost time now.
One day, while Jaime is just trying to enjoy a cup of tea on the couch with Alysanne curled up beside him, Tommen bursts through the front door.
“Dad!”
“What?”
“Come look!”
And he points through the front door, and Jaime sets his cup of tea down on the coffee table and walks out—much to Alysanne’s annoyance—but all he sees is Pod and Sansa getting out of their car, and did Tommen really make all that racket just because Pod picked up Sansa from the bookstore like he always does?
Until he realises that they’re not the only ones getting out of the car.
Jaime runs up to the gate and flings it open, then just stands there, speechless.
“When I told you I would find you,” Tyrion sighs, “I didn’t expect you to make it so difficult for me. I don’t think I’m made for boats, brother.”
“Seven hells,” Jaime croaks, barely finding his voice. “I thought you were dead.”
“No, no. I’m very much alive, as you can see, and managed to hitch a ride from the town.” He points a thumb towards Pod and Sansa.
“Hello, Uncle,” Tommen says from Jaime’s side. “Do you remember me?”
“Of course I do. How’s your cat? Bear, isn’t it?”
Tommen grins. “He’s good. He has a family now. A wife and two kids.”
“A wife? Well, I’m sorry to have missed the ceremony,” Tyrion says, though he glances at Jaime with a look that says, I really hope you didn’t hold a wedding for two cats.
Jaime has a thousand questions for his brother, but he expects that most of them can’t be answered in the presence of the children. So they slowly make their way towards the house, Tommen running ahead to find his mother and sister.
“You’ve made yourself a home here,” Tyrion says. “And I hear you still go by Jaime.”
“I do. Just on the island.”
“So I suppose I should go by Tyrion.”
“You don’t have to. We told the kids.”
Tyrion stops, while Pod and Sansa overtake them and head into the house. “Really? How did they take it?”
“As well as can be expected. We waited till after the war ended, so it’s still pretty fresh.”
Tyrion nods. “I’m fine with Tyrion. I have no attachment to any of my names.” And then he looks down at his feet. “Listen, brother—before we head in there. You should know—Father’s dead.”
“Oh.” Father’s dead. Jaime hadn’t seen the General in so long that he’d practically thought of his father as dead already. “Do I want to know how?”
Some shadow seems to fall over Tyrion’s face. “Probably not.”
Just then, Brienne appears in the doorway. “Tyrion.”
“Ah, Brienne,” Tyrion says, turning towards her. “You look radiant. The island life suits you best, I expect.”
She smiles, the warmest smile she’s probably ever given Tyrion. “It suits all of us, I think. Come in, I’m just making dinner.”
Jaime had almost forgotten how good a conversationalist his brother is. While they’re waiting for Brienne to be done with dinner—with Pod and Sansa helping her—Tyrion is able to entertain Myrcella and Tommen with stories of their childhood, the rare good parts of their childhood, while barely alluding to their former jobs at all.
“Will you stay with us tonight, Uncle?” Myrcella asks, once Tyrion has run out of anecdotes.
“Oh, I was just going to stay in town, if someone would give me a lift back. I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“But we have room! Sansa hardly sleeps in her room anymore. She stays half the nights in Pod’s house.”
“Pod has a house?” Tyrion says, just as Sansa lets out something like a squeak, and Pod almost drops the plate in his hands, and Brienne scolds Myrcella for offering Sansa’s room without asking her first. “Wait—Sansa stays with—this is all very confusing.”
“We converted a garden shed out back for Pod,” Jaime laughs. “It’s nicer than it sounds. And, well, these two have been carrying on for three years now. Though the staying over part is pretty new.”
To think Sansa thought they wouldn’t notice when she started sneaking out of the house at night about a year ago. That had made for a very awkward conversation that Jaime would rather not remember. But, well, he and Brienne had reasoned that they’d rather it happen on their watch before Sansa, almost twenty now, and Pod, twenty-two, finally go off to university. They won’t be able to go as Sansa and Podrick, but they’ll be starting together at a small college on the mainland in a few months.
“Well, if there’s a free bedroom,” Tyrion shrugs, “I wouldn’t mind staying here for a night or two.”
“That’s all?” Jaime says. “You’ve come all this way.”
“I have some work to get back to. But I’m in this country for good, now, so I should be able to visit more often. Or you could come visit me.”
“Could we, Dad?” Tommen asks, all excitement. “We haven’t been off the island in ages.”
“Of course we can,” Jaime answers. “He’s family.”
After dinner, Jaime, Brienne, and Tyrion sit out on the front lawn, where they’d put a bench and a couple of wooden crates that had been salvaged from an old restaurant in town. They all have a glass of red wine in their hands—even Brienne, who still seldom partakes in any kind of alcohol—and it’s so serene that Jaime almost can’t believe it. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been able to just be with his brother like this, without worrying about their father, or their cousin, or the Centre, and all the associated repercussions.
“Just like old times,” Tyrion comments, though Jaime was just thinking that this is anything but.
“How have you been, brother?” Jaime asks. “Really.”
Tyrion heaves a sigh. “It hasn’t been easy. I tried to hold the Centre off at first, but…” He trails off, and takes a sip of his wine. “Anyway. I managed to make it here, about a year or so after you did.”
“What? You’ve been here all this time?”
“I have. But I’ve been working, and I didn’t want to attract any suspicion to myself or your family. So I stayed away until I knew it was safe.”
“You think it’s safe now?” Brienne ventures.
“Safe enough, with the war over. Though I’d still be careful if I were you, and I certainly wouldn’t fault you for staying here.”
“Hmm,” Jaime replies, taking a sip of his wine too. “We’ve been thinking about enrolling the twins in high school.” With Pod and Sansa going away, Jaime knows he and Brienne won’t be able to manage the twins’ education. And they’d have to give them a good one if the kids are to have the options that were never available to him or Brienne.
“And leave your island paradise?”
“We’re still trying to figure it out. The nearest school is more than an hour away including the boat ride. It’s not unmanageable, but it could get exhausting for them.”
Tyrion clicks his tongue. “I don’t envy your choices.”
“Better than the choices we used to face,” Brienne mutters, to Tyrion’s visible pleasure.
“Why, good-sister.” He raises his glass to her. “I would call that progress.”
She rolls her eyes at him—with an ease that she would never have shown back when he was their handler—and settles more closely into Jaime’s side.
“If I may ask,” Tyrion says, tentatively. “Would you ever consider going back to work? Not out in the field, but… training other agents in this country, perhaps. Confidentially, of course.”
“Is that why you’re here?” says Jaime. “Not to visit your brother and his family?”
“I’m killing two birds with one stone.”
“Depends on the kids,” is Brienne’s answer. Jaime is surprised it isn’t an outright refusal, though he knows she’s been getting restless of late. “They come first, always.”
“As they should.”
They sit in silence for the next few minutes, sipping their wine in the night air. Then, Tyrion says, “You know what they’re calling the war now, don’t you?”
“We heard.” They had named it something euphemistic, almost romantic, a phrase that had already been used to describe other dark periods in the distant and not-so-distant pasts. “It’s very unoriginal. There’ve already been a couple of those, and I doubt they were much like this one.”
“All of them had their horrors. One would hope people might learn from them.”
“No. People don’t do that.” They will only call it history, and use that as an excuse to forget that the war had once governed their entire existence. They will relegate it to this thing they call the past, as if the past is something that can simply be left behind, not seen again, buried; as if its effects are not always felt viscerally in the present. They will forget any lessons it could have taught, forget that even if people fall from power, power remains.
“I don’t know,” Brienne says, breaking through Jaime’s bitter thoughts. “Some people learn, I think. Maybe not enough. But some do.”
“Like us?” Jaime suggests.
She shrugs, carefully rotating her wine glass by its stem. “I don’t know about that. We stepped away to protect our family. What good did that do anyone besides us?”
“Think of it this way, Brienne,” Tyrion offers. “You were weapons, weren’t you? Tools to be used, if not by one side, then by the other. Removing yourself from the equation was the best thing you could have done.”
“Perhaps,” she sighs. “I know it might sound naive, but—I’d wanted to make this world better. And I’m not sure I’ve done anything to achieve that.”
“Well. You’re—thirty-four now?”
“Thirty-five.”
“There’s still time, I think. This world could always use some bettering.”
Tyrion lifts his glass to his lips again, only to realise there is no wine left in it. “I suppose this is my cue to get ready for bed,” he says, holding up the empty glass.
They bid their goodnights, but Jaime and Brienne decide to stay on the bench a while longer. It’s a clear night, and Jaime thinks he will never tire of looking up at the stars from this island, how infinite they seem in this great expanse of sky. There’s a moon out tonight too, a crescent moon.
“Hey,” Jaime nudges Brienne.
“Hmm?”
“Want to know a secret, wife?”
She sets her glass down on a crate, and twists to look at him. “Another one? I thought we were done with those.”
He smiles at her, then leans forward so he can whisper the words into her ear. “You make my world better.”
Brienne laughs, winding one arm around his waist, and placing her other hand on his thigh. “Is that the best you can do, husband?”
“Actually, no. You make Myrcella’s world better, and Tommen’s, and Pod’s, and Sansa’s, and the cats’, and the chickens’—”
“Okay, okay, I get it.”
She leans in to kiss him, and he savours the lingering taste of red wine on her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever kissed you after you’ve had a drink,” he muses, when they part.
“Good to know there’s still new experiences to be had between us.”
Suddenly, she snorts, and slaps his thigh.
“What?” he laughs.
“I just—I just remembered the first time I had a drink around you.”
For a brief moment, it’s the two of them down in the basement again. “You mean when I drowned you in whiskey so I could pull out your tooth?”
She nods, barely able to control her laughter. The distress of that night—her pain, and their argument after—had long been worn thin by the years. “Imagine if—if you’d kissed me then—”
“Mmm, whiskey and blood.” He licks his lips. “Sounds delicious.”
“Sounds awful,” she says, still giggling.
“I’d still do it.”
She lifts her hand from his thigh to pat his chest lightly. “There are lots of things we’re capable of doing, husband. Doesn’t mean we should do all of them.”
“Well.” He puts his own glass down, and reaches for her hand. “I’d just like to say, wife, that I’m glad for all the things I’ve been able to do with you.”
It seems wrong to say once he’s said it. They’ve done terrible things in the past, things he wishes they hadn’t had to do, and anyone else might hear those words and think he was glad to do them. Still, he knows Brienne will understand it. He’s glad that it was her by his side through all of it, that it’s her on this bench beside him now. He’s glad for the things he wouldn’t have been able to do without her. And he’ll tell her that she makes his world better, and that he’s glad to have her in it, even if she laughs at him for getting sentimental.
But this time, Brienne just smiles.
“Me too.”
|
The rain was trickling down the back of Crowley’s neck.
His coat. He’d forgotten– hadn’t put on? Had he? He turned uncertainly. The cobbles were cold under his feet and images crowded in on him again, though they weren’t as bad as they had been. Still, he pressed his face into his hands, gulping breaths in, until they went away.
So opium. Definitely off the list. Right. Yes. Good. Good to know.
His throat ached and he tried not to touch. Too many miracles used to get out of Bethlem. Didn’t need to use more to patch up wounds inflicted by his own recklessness. It wasn’t bleeding at least. Just bruising. That was fine. It would heal.
He shivered, turning again.
Somewhere to stay. That was the important thing. Somewhere out of the rain. Shoes. Shoes too. And coat. And… and…
In his mind’s eye he saw it again. Much clearer than nightmares. Fucking opium. Opened up his senses even more than everything else. Vivid and real and every graphic detail. Surround sound. The smell of blood. Head bouncing. Not his. No. no, no, no. Worse than that.
Crowley folded over, throwing up on the cobbles.
The rain was getting heavier and he stared down at the mess.
Dark and cold. Needed to find somewhere warmer to stay. Out of the rain. Out of… out of the open…
Croydon was close, wasn’t it? Not too far? Only a few miles.
Dripping and shivering, he focussed his attention on that church, tried to move himself. His body – and everything inside it – ached in protest and he shuddered again, limping on in the direction of the town. Tried again, again, again, as he walked, until at last he moved and emerged on the steps of the church.
The door was locked and he sagged against it, trying his utmost not to cry. One small miracle wouldn’t hurt, would it? Just a little one, moving a tongue in a hasp.
In the silent damp of the night, the hinges creaked and he crept inside, closing the door behind him. The church was still and silent, cold as a tomb. He hobbled on aching feet through the vestibule, down the aisle, past the pews.
The moonlight turned the tiles bloody red underfoot, shining through the stained glass, and he shuddered, folding in on himself. The images were returning, thick and fast and dead and dying and blood all over and he couldn’t–
“Please,” he whispered. “Please, please, please…”
No one answered, if anyone was even listening, but his eye caught on a spark of gold, drawn away from darker thoughts.
Cloth. Cloth shot through with gold. Dry. Warm.
He limped as fast as his aching feet would allow. A cassock, abandoned over one of the pews, thick and heavy. Not much but more than cold and wet shirt and breeches and bare feet. He pulled it around him, curling up at the edge of the high altar.
“I’m tired,” he confessed in a trembling breath. “Please, I’m tired.”
Maybe someone heard or maybe he was just exhausted enough, because the world went quiet and dark around him, and on the steps of the altar, he fell asleep.
__________________________________
Aziraphale felt the shift in air a moment before he turned to find Crowley sitting at the table beside him.
“Twice in eight months? I must have been either awfully good,” he said, nudging the angel with a grin, “or terribly, terribly bad.”
Crowley gave him a watery smile. “Just checking in,” he admitted. “No… repercussions after the Paris business?”
Aziraphale shook his head, then scooped a portion of his dinner onto the side plate and slid it towards the angel. “As long as I’m causing mischief, they don’t mind.” He considered his cutlery, then dropped a spare spoon into the mess on the plate. “Do eat up, my dear. You look skinny as a rake.”
Crowley nodded, picking up the spoon and stirring at the warm morass of meat and potatoes.
Aziraphale took a moment to study him. He was uncommonly pale. Not unusual for the angel, but combined with the rings under his eyes and a rather nasty bruise running down the side of his neck, he didn’t look at all well.
“Are you all right, my dear?” he asked, when the angel finally took a couple of mouthfuls.
“Hm?”
He hesitated, then lifted his hand to brush his knuckles lightly along Crowley’s throat.
Crowley recoiled with a hiss.
“An accident?” Aziraphale asked gently. Honey eyes stared at him and Crowley covered his throat with his hand. “You’re rather badly bruised.”
Crowley’s jaw worked and he nodded. “An accident.”
He was lying.
Aziraphale gazed at him, then smiled as if nothing was amiss. “Well, you know what is best for a sore throat? A fine brandy. Shall we find some?”
Crowley’s smile was a faint flicker of a thing, barely even a twitch of his lips. “Okay,” he said, though he didn’t lower his hand at once. “Yeah.”
It was only much later, when he was happily tipsy, his arm propped on the back of a chair and his head lolling to the side that Aziraphale could make out the shape of the bruise. Darker lines at the edges of a narrow band. A collar. Or worse, a shackle.
More sherry gently tipped Crowley into dreamland and Aziraphale carried him – gentle as if he were a baby – to a room in the inn. He laid the sleeping angel down on a narrow bed, drawing a cover over him.
“Oh, my dear.” He smoothed Crowley’s hair. “What on earth has become of you?”
The angel made a faint murmur of sound, tilting his hand into Aziraphale’s touch.
Once, he had stayed, pinned in place and held and it was almost tempting to do the same now, but the angel wouldn’t thank him and he had no desire to cause him any further trouble. Still, he leaned down and pressed his lips tenderly to Crowley’s temple.
“Rest well, little darling,” he whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”
Crowley never stirred and Aziraphale shut the door silently behind him as he left.
|
They didn’t speak much on their way back, to Gabriel’s relief. Not that they had many opportunities. First, Uriel had waited for them just outside the door wanting to know if Gabriel was alright. Then Michael accosted him for some last administrative issues Gabriel barely paid attention to - something about who he thought should replace Sandalphon in his job and Gabriel blurted out a name - and by the time they took stairs down to Earth the silence had settled around them like a fog.
Only when they arrived back to the cottage did Gabriel turn to Aziraphale and Crowley who were watching him expectantly.
“About what I said to Sandalphon…" he started and fell silent again. What should he say? Should he just deny everything, laugh it off, claim that he only said what he said to upset Sandalphon?
This could change everything. And Gabriel wasn’t prepared for another change. What if they’ll reject him? They had every right to do that. One thing was tolerating him as a housemate, another was Gabriel intruding on their relationship.
He should just deny it. He should get used to the idea himself first since the first time he realized it was the truth was when he had spoken it out loud. But denying wouldn’t make the feelings go away. And it would make him a liar and a coward, the two things Gabriels strove not to be.
“It’s all true.” he rushed out before he could lose his courage and waited for the inevitable reaction.
Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s nice to hear. Could you be more specific?”
That was his last chance.
“I love you.”
Time seemed to have stopped for a moment. Then Aziraphale took his hand and when he didn’t flinch away he had full arms of the angel.
“Oh, Gabriel. I didn’t want to say anything before you were ready. Of course, we love you too.”
Gabriel felt as if he was hit over the head with a hammer. “Wait...I am sorry...I didn’t mean…” Aziraphale lifted the concern filled eyes to him.
“What didn’t you mean?”
“I...It isn’t like that…?” It was more of a question than a statement.
“Maybe he meant he loves us more like friends,” suggested Crowley from behind Aziraphale. He had his sunglasses pushed down his nose and he was giving Gabriel an intense searching look that wasn’t entirely comfortable.
“No!” denied Gabriel. “I just…” How was he to explain the warmth he felt towards Aziraphale and Crowley, one that was nothing like what he had felt with Sandalphon? It was new and foreign and Gabriel wasn’t sure he even understood it. If he ever felt something close to it, it was a long time ago, before the dawn of time, when he was still new and full of wonder.
Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look. “You seem confused,” said Crowley.
“I am sorry,” Gabriel hanged his head.
“Don’t be sorry,” said Aziraphale. “Feeling can be confusing.”
“Yeah, you can trust us at that,” said Crowley with a little glare in Aziraphale’s direction. “It took us six thousand years to admit our feelings to each other.”
“Let’s just sit down and figure it out together,” Aziraphale suggested.
Gabriel took the lead to the sitting room and seated himself in the armchair. Aziraphale took the second one and Crowley arranged himself on the sofa.
“You love me?” he asked before either of his companions could start.
Aziraphale nodded. “Yes,” he gave him a sheepish smile. “To be honest, a long time ago I really fancied you. I wanted desperately to please you so you would think well of me.”
Gabriel understood what happened instead. He had become an asshole and Aziraphale started to think less of him instead.
He gave a curious glance to Crowley.
“Don’t look at me. I have just this stupid weakness for angels. And I must say you’ve grown on me in the last few years. Don’t know where it goes.”
“Of course you don’t have to reciprocate if you don’t feel the same,” Aziraphale assured him.
Gabriel closed his eyes. “I think I don’t feel the same. I like you,” he said quickly. “But I don’t want to do things with you that people in love are supposed to do."
“And what things are these?” Crowley asked.
“You know, things,” when Crowley gave him a blank stare Gabriel was forced to elaborate. “Like kissing and touching in, um, places. And sex.” He went a bit pink in the face.
“Gabriel,” Aziraphale started slowly, “love and sex are two different things. You can love someone, romantically, and not have sex with them.”
“Or have sex with someone without loving them,” added Crowley.
“Yes, that too. Point is you can be in love without ever thinking about sex.”
“But Sandalphon said sex is a way to prove your love.”
Crowley actually growled. “Well, I think we’ve already pretty much established that anything Sandalphon said is bullshit that should be buried in a very deep hole preferably together with nuclear waste.”
Gabriel turned to Aziraphale. “But in all these books you gave me and the movies we’ve watched always had a couple going to have sex when they fell in love.”
“You must understand that most of the fiction isn’t true to reality. It tends to be romanticized or exaggerated. It’s like a misshapen mirror ging a skewed view of reality. Just because it commonly happens in books doesn’t mean it a universal experience.”
“Plus humans aren’t exactly good at representing things that aren’t mainstream,” said Crowley.
“I assure you that there are people who don’t experience any sexual attraction and they can love as deeply as the next person. They are called asexuals.”
“Really?” asked Gabriel doubtfully.
“Yes. There are different ways to love. There are people who only want to have sex with people who they have deeply connected with. There is a lot of information out there about it. If you are interested we can go through it and see if it fit what you feel.”
“But what if I am like this?” asked Gabriel with trepidation. He felt a bit stupid. Didn’t the Almighty create him to be a being of love? Love should be his expertise but most of the things Aziraphale said were completely new to him.
“Gabriel, it changes nothing about my feelings. Or Crowley’s. If sex is something you don’t want, then we won’t ever force you into it.”
“If a relationship is something you even want,” said Crowley.
“It’s has been barely half a year since you left Sandalphon,” said Aziraphale seriously. “You don’t have to rush into a relationship if you don’t feel ready. We can wait. We can take time to see if it’s something we all feel comfortable with.”
Gabriel looked between the two of them. “I think It’s something I’d like. To try it. Slowly.”
Despite his earlier warning, Aziraphale gave Gabriel a bright smile. “Alright. We can go slowly. But tell us if we are going too fast or you don’t want to do something.”
Gabriel nodded. “The same applies to you. You can tell me if I am being weird.”
“Alright.”
A moment of silence followed. Gabriel felt that such a momentous change in his life should be accompanied by some great sign - angels bursting into a song and fanfares or lightning striking nearby at the very least - but everything seemed as it was ten minutes ago.
“What now?” he asked cluelessly.
Crowley shifted on the sofa. “I don’t know about you, but I think the relationship should start with a good date. Plus Gabriel deserves to be taken our for how he dealt with that disgusting creep.”
Aziraphale’s eyes shone. “Yes, a date. And maybe some handholding after.”
They both turned questioningly to Gabriel.
“I think I can manage that.”
|
Clarke can’t help her jaw from dropping a little bit as she walks hand in hand with Lexa into the ball room, It’s spectacular. Clarke thinks this might be the fanciest room she’s ever been in
Lexa gives Clarke's hand a little squeeze to get her attention, Clarke looks at her stunning date and she can’t stop the smile from growing on her lips. Lexa looks so breath taking and Clarke can’t help but feel a little smug looking around knowing that she’s on the arm of the most beautiful person in the room. "Shall we?" Lexa says softly, motioning forward. ‘lead the way’ Clarke replies.
They don’t make it too far into the ballroom before they are stopped by someone calling from behind them."Clarke!" It’s a woman’s voice. Both Lexa and Clarke turn in unison.
"Mum!" Clarke gasps.
The older woman approaches Clarke, following behind her is a man that Clarke doesn’t recognize, He looks about the same age as her mum, wavy brown hair, He’s wearing a very sharp tuxedo and looks rather handsome.
"Mum! what are you doing here?" Clarke questions.
"Well Clarke," her mother begins."You know that Arcadia general works closely with mount weather Private, it’s not so strange that I should be here. What on earth brings you here?"
"Umm" Clarke struggles to find the words"Well I’m just the plus one here, With Lexa. Mum this is Lexa, Lexa this is my mum, Abigail Griffin."
"very nice to meet you miss Griffin." Lexa steps forward offering her hand.
"please call me Abby" the older woman smiles as she shakes Lexa’s hand.
The man who Clarke had noticed earlier steps out from behind Abby now."Lexa woods!" he questions excitedly.
"Um yes" Lexa replies cautiously.
"Oh wow" he exclaims as he sticks his hand out towards Lexa.
'My name is Marcus Kane. I’m a director at mount weather. I’ve been following your work closely." Lexa relaxes a little and shakes the man’s hand.
"Using drones for emergency medical transportation and delivering medical supplies to isolated and rural areas. It’s incredible. As someone who has seen the difference that it makes up close I’ll tell you, You should be very proud of the work you’re doing!"
"Thank you, Mr Kane," Lexa blushes a little."I am very proud of the work my team are doing, a lot of people worked very hard to get that project of the ground. It means a lot to hear that there is visible good impact coming from it already, I’ll be sure to pass your words of praise onto my team when we next meet."
Clarke looks over at her mum who is eyeing her off a little. As soon as Lexa finishes talking Abby pipes up
"Lexa woods? As in Clarke's boss?" She questions.
"umm yes ma’am that’s correct" Lexa confirms.
Abby’s eyes shoot straight over to Clarke, eyebrows raised.
"Oh god mum!" Clarke lets out an exasperated cry."Stop looking at me like I just killed a kitten! She’s my boss not my cousin! Dating your boss really isn’t that taboo!"
‘So you are dating?’ Abby‘s quick to reply
"ugh mum! We’re kind of seeing each other, this is new, it’s only the second time we’ve been out and whatever this is, it doesn’t need to be put under your microscope okay!, so please just drop it!"
"Okay okay." Abby says putting her hands up in surrender."Well I’m glad you’re here Clarke. It’s about time you met Marcus"
Clarke's eyes drift over to the man standing by her mother."You two?’ Clarke doesn’t finish her sentence but her question is clear.
"Yes." her mother confirms."We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now. I was actually going to call you this weekend to organize dinner for the 3 of us."
"Oh Okay." Clarke says a little wearily.
"It’s really nice to meet you Clarke." Marcus states genuinely"Your mother has told me so much about you."
"Yeh I bet.’ Clarke mumbles.
"Clarke.’ Her mother warns.
"Sorry." Clarke quickly changes her tone ‘It’s great to meet you too. I think dinner would be nice’ Clarke says with a sweet smile.
"Great." Abby says clasping her hands together."I’ll call you later in the week to confirm. We’ll let you go enjoy yourself now. You both look very beautiful." she smiles at the pair before taking Marcus’s hand and walking away, he calls out his goodbye’s as he’s being dragged away.
'Well." Clarke says squeezing Lexa’s hand tight."Bet you didn’t think you’d be meeting my mother tonight."
"I certainly did not.’" Lexa says with a chuckle. "I think it went okay though right?" Lexa looks at Clarke expectantly.
"Yeh of course! Come on. How could she not be impressed by you, you're beautiful, smart and powerful. If I was a mum, you’re exactly the sort I’d want banging my daughter." Clarke flashes Lexa a devilish grin and Lexa can’t help but laugh.
"Clarke! You can be so inappropriate! You and Anya would get on like a house on fire."
‘come on’ Clarke says moving forward with Lexa in tow ‘You’ve got some networking to do’.
Clarke loves watching Lexa talk business. She is in her element here. She speaks with such confidence and passion and Clarke loves watching the expressions on the faces of the people she is talking to. They are all in awe of her. Clarke can’t help but being very turned on.
Clarke has been finding it increasingly difficult to keep her touching at an appropriate level. It started with just running her thumb up and down Lexa’s thumb as they hold hands. Next she felt herself become bold enough to put her arm around Lexa, resting her hand on Lexa’s hip drawing lazy circles with her finger, then she moved her hand to Lexa’s back, her hand gently running up and down before settling on her lower back.Lexa is so involved in the conversations she’s having that Clarke doubts the brunette has even noticed her hungry hands, that is until they have a rare moment alone and Lexa pulls Clarke in close so their bodies are flush against each other.
"Clarke." Lexa breathes, resting her forehead on the blondes.
"You’re driving me crazy" Lexa says as her arms that are wrapped around Clarke's waist pull Clarke in as tight as they can. Clarke hums a little at the friction it creates.
"I’m sorry Miss woods, You're just so hot when you're all business like. You’re walking around like a total boss, everyone in this room is waiting their turn to get to come talk to you. It’s sexy as hell."
Clarke leans in and catches Lexa’s bottom lip and sucks it into her mouth, letting her teeth drag across it as she slowly releases it. Lexa can’t stop the moan that escapes her mouth, and she desperately tries to pull Clarke closer but it’s impossible. Lexa is about to lean in to kiss Clarke when she feels someone brush past her and then a familiar voice
"Get a room.’
They both look over to see Clarke's mum walking by with the biggest shit eating grin on her face, Marcus in tow chuckling to himself.
"Oh god’ Clarke groans."We need to get a grip! Okay look you go do your thing. I’m gonna go find more of those delicious hors d’oeuvres and then I’ll go check out the view from the balcony that everyone has been raving about. Come find me there when you’re ready"
"Are you sure Clarke? I feel terrible. I know I said we’d only be here for an hour but I am making some really valuable connections"
‘Lexa, I’m positive! Don’t worry about me, I’m having a great time! You keep doing your thing. You're amazing!’ Clarke re assures her date
"Your amazing!’ Lexa points the compliment back at the blonde squeezing the girls hand tight. Clarke leans In and places a soft kiss on Lexa’s lips before disappearing into the crowd.
Sometime later Clarke is standing out on the Balcony, the venue is on the water, and the ballroom balcony extends over the water, there is a huge full moon and not a cloud in the sky. Clarke is leaning on the railing enjoying the spectacular sight. She’s not really sure how long she’s been out there. She’s had a few conversations with various other patrons who have come to enjoy the view, but now she has the view to herself and she feels like her body is tingling. This night has been so perfect. Just as she’s thinking to herself that It could only be made more perfect if Lexa was here to enjoy the view with her she feels two strong arms wrap around her waist and a warm body push up against her back.
Clarke hums ‘Hey you’
"Hey." Lexa replies, dropping her head down to place soft kisses along the length of Clarke’s neck.
"I’m sorry I left you for so long." Lexa says before continuing kissing Clarke's neck.
"Not a problem." Clarke replies, trying not to moan at the feel of Lexa’s soft lips on her neck"I’ve kept myself busy and honestly I could stand here all night and enjoy this beautiful view." Lexa moves from Clarke's neck and looks at Clarke taking in her profile, outlined by the light of the moon.
"Yeh me too." Lexa says softly. Clarke cranes her head to see Lexa staring at her.
"Oh your so corny!’ Clarke laughs.
"I’m just being honest Clarke. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking at you" Lexa says, wrapping her arms tighter around the blonde’s waist.
Clarke hums, leaning back into Lexa’s body."I think I can live with that"
There’s something Lexa wants to talk about, but she’s a little scared to start the conversation. As though Clarke can read her mind, she asks"Something up Lex?"
Lexa takes a deep breath"Earlier when your mum asked if we were dating"
"Oh hey" Clarke butts in."Don’t even worry about that. That’s just my mum, we don’t have to put any labels on this"
Lexa goes silent for a minute. Tempted to just leave it there. But something in her won’t let her.
"Um okay sure, but what I was going to say is, I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to label it." Clarke turns in Lexa’s arms and green meets blue.
Lexa takes a deep breath before continuing.
"I haven’t dated anyone in a really long time Clarke. I’ve never wanted to until you. I’m serious about this. It scares the hell out of me, But I know I can’t fight it and I know that you’re in my head all the time, you’re the only person I want to be with. I know it’s all very new and if you need more time"
Lexa is interrupted by the blonde’s lips smashing against her own, the kiss is passionate but restrained at the same time. It’s like nothing Lexa has ever experienced before. When they finally tear themselves apart, Clarke speaks
"Lexa, I’ve never really done relationships either. It’s never been my thing. I’ve never met someone that’s made me think twice about it either. Until you. The way I’m feeling about you. It’s something new to me. And it scares me too. But if you’re up for it, I am too."
"Okay then.’ Lexa smiles at the blonde. Clarke turns herself back around in Lexa’s arms facing the view.
The pair stand like that for a while, not moving, just enjoying the feel of each, the closeness. It’s only when one of the staffers from the ball appears on the balcony and informs them that the ball is wrapping up and that most guests have already left that they move from their comfortable position. They walk to Lexa’s car hand in hand, comfortable silence between them. Lexa opens the passenger side door and helps Clarke in before moving around the car and taking her spot in the driver’s seat.
Clarke falls asleep on the ride home. Lexa glances over from time to time. Clarke looks so peaceful. When they pull up at Clarke’s building the blonde is still fast asleep. Lexa brushes her cheek softly with the back of her hand, Clarke slowly begins to stir.
"Oh god. Did I fall asleep? I’m so sorry. What time is it?" Clarke mumbles, barley coherent. Lexa giggles"It’s okay Clarke. It’s been a long day. It’s quarter to one."
"Oh wow" Clarke says, a bit more awake now. "No wonder I fell asleep, it’s way past my bed time."
‘Well lets get you to bed then’ Lexa says with a soft smile. "I’ll walk you up" Lexa gets out of the car and makes her way around to open the door for Clarke, she takes the blonde's hand and helps her up out of the car. Lexa wraps her arm around Clarke's waist as the walk up to their apartment, holding her close.
"Here we are.’Lexa states as they arrive at Clarke door. Clarke turns in Lexa’s arm so they are standing face to face.
"Thank you for this evening Clarke." Lexa begins."I’ve been to many of these events and never have I truly enjoyed one until tonight"
Clarke smiles as she brings her arms up to wrap around Lexa’s neck."Thank you for inviting me. It was a perfect night"
Lexa leans in and places a chaste kiss on Clarke’s lips
Clarke pouts"Is that all I’m going to get"
"It’s late Clarke." Lexa replies, Not even trying to hide the disappointment in her voice."If I give you more than that I won’t be able to stop."
Clarke sighs "I know what you mean"
"We’ll get there Clarke." Lexa assures the blonde"When we do, I want it to be perfect. I want to be able to give you everything."
Clarke smiles at the brunette, before leaning in and placing a soft kiss on her the corner of her mouth. ‘Goodnight Lexa.’
"Good night Clarke." Lexa watches the blonde disappear into her apartment before she turns and heads back to her car.
Another perfect evening with Clarke griffin. Lexa thinks to herself. The part of her that feels scared about how quickly she is falling for this girl can’t compete with the part of her that is excited about how quickly she is falling for this girl. And Lexa drives the entire way home with a huge smile on her face.
|
All Taehyung remembered was eating with Jimin and suddenly, a man came into the kitchen. He was so handsome that all Taehyung could do was stare.
When the man looked up at him, he felt a sort of completeness in his heart. Like a piece of him was finally returned and he felt complete.
He didn’t even realize Jimin’s shriek or of the other’s gasps. He was so lost in the other mans eyes that he didn’t even notice his eye change magically back to amber. He didn’t even notice it was another color. Only the completeness in his heart.
----
Jungkook didn't know what to do. The moment he saw the humans eyes, he completely regretted coming back home. He was frozen in place as they stared at each other.
He heard Jin gasped from somewhere, but he didn't care. This was his soulmate someone he's suppose to spend the rest of his days with.
Which is why, after a few minutes, he turned around and ran out of the house, ignoring all the calls of him to come back.
----
Jimin just stared off after the man, Taehyung's soulmate took off. Taehyung seemed frozen in time. His eyes were now both brown and Jimin felt happy for him, but he still felt a lingering sadness in his chest.
Then, after a few seconds, everyone seemed to snap out of it. Jin blinked and turned around hurriedly and went back to cooking, though it was no use, it was burnt. Namjoon immidiately enveloped his lover in an embrace and held him. Hoseok cleared his threat loudly and Jimin turned back down to his food.
Taehyung still seemed in a trance as he turned back to his food as well. He shoved his mouth full of eggs before excusing himself and getting up from the table. He looked so wobbly that Jimin wanted to go up and embrace his best friend, but he felt the lingering of anger and navy towards his best friend.
How he had found his soulmate and complained about him as soon as he got the color. Jimin never really complained about him, but he felt envious on how his best friend, who was soulmated to a vampire, found his soulmate before him.
He frowned at Taehyung for a moment before turning back to his food and eating it. Uncaring of the glances sent his way.
----
Taehyung didn't register walking, only letting his feet take him where they wanted him to go. Which just so happened to be his room. He took two steps and proceeded to collapse onto his knees.
He had just met his soulmate. His soulmate!! He was staring off into space for a second until the dread settling into the pit of his stomach.
His soulmate was a vampire... Vampires don't just walk into somebody's home unannounced. Jin had said something about somebody who was almost never home. That person was him. That person was his soulmate, that person was a vampire.
All of the thoughts came crashing through his head as he realized what this meant. Jin and the others....they are vampires. He felt himself hyperventilate and wanted nothing more than Jimin and cuddles, but Jimin wasn't here, he was downstairs.
He tried to calm himself down and stumbled onto his bed, shaking, his whole body was shaking as he realized he had been living with vampires for the past few days.
That explains everything, how everyone was acting so weird when he started bleeding...He took a big breath and closed his eyes. It didn't help that every time he closed his eyes, his soulmate was looking back at him.
He opened his eyes and stared at the floor, trying to organize his thoughts.
After he finally managed to calm down, a big pain in his chest made itself prominent in his chest. Like somebody had ripped a huge hole out of his heart. He clenched his heart in pain and whimpered.
Why was he hurting??
He gasped as the pain turned into sharp knives and he collapsed onto the bed, pain finally gone and him feeling at peace with himself for the first time in a while.
----
Jin should've known this was going to happen. He quickly busied himself with cooking, but knew it was no use. The pancakes were already burned to a crisp, but he didn't care. He felt Namjoon wrap his arms around him and he sighed, just for the sake of it.
Namjoon knew. Everyone in that room knew, but nobody said anything. They all knew it was bound to happen, they just didn't expect it to be so soon.
He vaguely registered Taehyung excusing himself and was confused when he didn't hear Jimin excused himself. They were attached at the hip, from what Jin saw.
He peeked over his shoulder and saw Jimin scowling at his food and frowned, confused. Shouldn't the be happy?? His friend just found his soulmate?
But Jimin was scowling into his food and Jin turned back to his food.
"What should we do?" A whisper in his ear. Namjoon's voice was always so calming.
"I don't know," Jin whispered back,"He'll be gone for a while, knowing him."
Namjoon sighed, burying his face in the crook of Jin's neck. Jin sighed.
After a while, the other two at the table dismissed themselves and it was just Namjoon and Jin in the kitchen. Namjoon didn't move from his spot at all.
"I don't know what to do, Joonie," Jin spoke in a small voice.
Namjoon turned Jin in his hold so that he was now facing him.
"Look at me," he said softly. Jin complied,"don't blame yourself, and I know you will, we all knew this was going to happen so don't blame yourself, ok? What happened, happened and that's all that matters."
"Yeah but.....I've always heard of the stories where people's soulmates will accept whoever they are no matter what," Jin looked up into Namjoon's eyes,"But....Kookie rejected him straight away. He ran away....."
Namjoon sighed,"I know, but give him some time, he will surely come around soon enough."
Jin just relaxed and laid his head on Namjoon's chest.
"Don't worry, it'll all work out soon enough."
----
He lied.
Over the next few days, Taehyung did not come out of his room and Jungkook was now here to be seen. Yoongi's visits were few and not often. He has been busy with work for a while. Jimin and Hoseok seemed like the only two constants, besides Namjoon and Jin.
Even Hoseok seemed to sense the tenseness in the room as Jimin sat with his arms crossed, so he decided to break the silence.
"So, how's Taehyung?" He asked, complete innocence in his tone, but Jimin wisibky tensed and a sour expression was on his face.
"How should I know?" He spat, surprising everyone in the room. Poor Hoseok looked like a kicked puppy and turned his face into his lap.
Jin looked at Hoseok and then to Jimin.
"Well, we haven't seen him for a few days, so we thought you'd know," Jin said softly, carefully.
"So? He does that sometimes...." he said quietly, though Jin could see some of the worry slip into his voice.
"He hasn't been eating at all for the past few days, though..." Namjoon added, sounding innocent.
Jin saw Jimin's eyes widened before he looked up at them with wide, frightened eyes.
"What if something bad happened to him??" Jimin said, running his hands through his hair, eyes darting everywhere,"I've been ignoring him and for what? Jealousy?? What if he's needed me??"
"Jimin, calm down," Jin said quickly, rushing over to his side and running his arm soothingly,"Calm down, you're going to freak yourself out."
Jimin managed to calm down, but he looked at Jin with wide eyes,"What should I do??"
"Talk to him, I'm sure he'll understand," Jin said,"And try to give him some food, yeah?"
Jimin nodded and took the food before rushing up the stairs. Jin smiled fondly, however that was short lived when he heard a shout and a distinct crash of glass breaking before a loud,"J-Jin-hyung?!!"
Jin rushed up there and was besides Jimin in seconds,"What??"
Jimin was staring straight ahead, the glass and food shattered all around the floor, but that's not what bothered Jin. It was the unmoving Taehyung that was laying on bed. He was facing the ceiling, his mouth parted and his hands clutching his chest. He was pale and he looked as if he were frowning.
Jin moved foreward, carefully avoiding the glass, and walked up to Taehyung. Pressing his hand to his forehead.
He was burning up.
He looked back at Jimin who was staring at his friend with an unreadable expression.
This can't be good....
|
Be Hitoshi Shinsou.
Be cold and alone, laying in the dirt beneath the pouring rain as blood congeals in your sinuses and bruises form all over your body.
Question how people can find it so easy to be cruel, to hurt the things they see as different. Endure the painful sting of betrayal as your tears mix with rainfall. Clench your hands and hate yourself for thinking things could ever be different.
Wonder what will happen when you return to the house that isn’t a home. Wonder how long it will take before the adults that are not your parents lose their tempers over your appearance. Wonder if they’ll feel like adding to the bruises already marring your torso.
Stand up anyway, dragging mud and half-solid blood out of your hair as you do. Commit the faces of the classmates who did this to you to memory and add them to the ever-growing list.
Walk back home with ice on your skin and burgeoning roots of burning hatred sinking into the space where your heart should be.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Sit quietly at your desk, doing everything you can to remain invisible until you can escape to the roof for lunch. Bury your face into the scribbled mess of your notebook and hope beyond hope that today will be better than the ones before it.
Blink in surprise when your teacher introduces someone new.
It’s a short boy with long, blonde hair and eyes that look like summer moons, bright and ethereal. The boy excitedly tells the class that his name is Himiko Toga, his favorite color is red and his Quirk lets him mimic the appearance of other people.
The people around you immediately begin whispering among themselves, their need for gossip so intense that you can practically taste it in the back of your throat. Immediately look away when Toga meets your gaze and wonder how long you have until he joins everyone else in making your life a living hell.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Cough and gasp as air is forced out from your lungs, the toe of another boy’s shoe slamming into your stomach.
Wish that you couldn’t feel pain, that you couldn’t feel anything anymore. Consider screaming, but decide that it isn’t worth it. Nobody has ever come to your rescue before and now won’t be any different.
Flinch as an unfamiliar voice bellows out a battle-cry and the blonde transfer student comes flying out of nowhere, his body parallel to the ground as he mercilessly drop kicks the bully standing over you. Time seems to stop for a moment, everyone else frozen as the blonde sends his target tumbling to the ground in a mess of flailing limbs and dirt.
The kicked boy doesn’t get back up right away, but the blonde does. His golden eyes positively gleam with something you can’t identify, but it’s not directed at you. It’s directed solely at the other three boys who are still standing, their faces frozen and mouth hanging agape from shock.
It’s only when the fallen boy begins crying, loud and ugly, that the spell is broken and they all seem to remember how to speak again. They shout threats and curses learned from the parents that allowed them to become monsters at such a tender age, but the blonde only smiles.
His teeth, you dimly note, are sharp like a wild animal’s.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Learn why Toga decided to stand up for you.
Learn that the blonde thinks that the bullies picking on you are cowards and that, if they’re willing to kick someone, then they should be willing to get kicked too.
Laugh at the matter-of-fact way Toga lays out his belief, his face betraying only sincere conviction without so much as a trace of sarcasm. Realize that, as soon as Toga finds out about your Quirk, his views will change.
Go out of your way to avoid him afterwards, to prolong the inevitable revelation that he also thinks you’re a Villain in the making. Wait for the moment when the feral, animalistic smile he’s quickly become known for begins twisting into disgust and anger upon seeing your face.
Wait an entire month for a moment that never comes.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Find out that Toga already knew what your Quirk was, even before he jumped in to save you that day.
Be confronted with the fact that, despite everything you’ve been taught to expect, he doesn’t care. He isn’t afraid of you, he isn’t disgusted by you and he makes that abundantly clear by the way he’s practically glued himself to your hip ever since.
Spend more and more time with Toga than you ever have with anyone else before.
Talk about everything and nothing at the same time, from menial things like the clouds (Yes, that one looks like a rabbit. No, you don’t know what rabbits taste like) to your aspirations for the future.
Tell him all about your dream of being a professional Hero when you get older. Explain that you want to help people like All Might, that you want to prove to the world that Quirks are only as good as the people that use them.
Brace yourself for the inevitable laughter when he says the same things as everyone else: that you’ll never be a Hero.
Find yourself at a loss for words when Toga looks at you with stars filling his summer-moon eyes and tells you that’s the coolest thing ever.
Wonder if you’re dreaming when he declares that both of you need to start putting together costumes ('something purple, definitely purple!' Toga declares) and name ideas for when you eventually go pro. Stifle a laugh when he realizes that he wants to be a Hero too, as if the idea only occurred to him after hearing it from you.
Do your best not to let him see the happy blush covering your face, a ticklish warmth spreading out inside your chest like you just swallowed liquid sunlight.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Sit beneath the shade of a tree, Toga’s shoulder brushing up against your own, as you read about retired Underground Heroes from a dusty book that he’d gone out of his way to find for you.
Realize that there are more people with Quirks like yours than you’d ever imagined, countless people who didn’t let the perceived nature of their abilities stop them from making a difference in the world.
Find yourself turning to your friend (because that’s what he’s somehow become, hasn’t he?) and thank him for something you can’t begin to put into words. Feel tears build in the corners of your eyes as Toga just gives you that feral smile of his, telling you that you’re being silly again.
Try not to cry when it strikes you that, to him, being there to support and remind you that you’re more than the world has made you out to be, is only natural.
Fail to hold the tears back when he gives you a gentle hug, the scent of steel and cinnamon enveloping you, as he says the words you’d given up on ever hearing.
“I’m glad I met you, Hitoshi.”
Spend the rest of that Saturday afternoon trying to convince Toga Himiko that your tears were happy ones.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Feel your skin crawl as you stand outside the door to Himiko’s house.
The distant cry of cicadas fills the air as you hesitate with your finger hovering over the doorbell. You consider turning around and leaving, afraid of what you’ll find within the house’s walls.
You’ve been through this exact situation several times before. Invited to a ‘friend’s’ house, only for the parents to recognize you through either the gossip of their children or from other parents. You then have no choice but to dance on eggshells, terrified that something will happen to give them cause to accuse you of trying to use your Quirk on someone before being kicked out and forbidden to return.
And that’s only if they even let you inside the house in the first place. More often than not you don’t even get that far.
Regardless, it always ends the same way: with the ‘friend’ being told not to associate with you, with them being told that you’re dangerous, with them being told about what you’ll eventually become.
A deviant. A criminal. A Villain.
Nearly jump out of your skin when the door bursts open on its own, Himiko leaping through the entryway to wrap you up in a warm bear-hug. Reflexively return the embrace, your body freezing up when an unfamiliar voice echoes out from the doorway.
“So, you’re the famous Hitoshi Shinsou I’ve been hearing so much about, huh?”
Attempt to stop your heart from crawling out from behind your ribs, your memories dyed with thoughts of what hearing an adult saying your full name always leads to. Wince as Himiko notices you tensing up and slowly peels himself away from you.
Explanations dance on the tip of your tongue, manufactured reasons for why you’re actually okay and there’s nothing for Toga to worry about. Placating lies that you’ve practiced so often that they’ve become as close to the truth as anything false can be.
But then you look up, cold sweat dripping down your back, and see that the man leaning on the open doorway doesn’t look angry with you. His face, while somewhat gloomy and lined with visible signs of intense exhaustion, holds only a knowing smile as Toga turns to him with hands planted firmly on his hips.
“That’s right, Papa! This is Hitoshi Shinsou, my best friend!”
Eyes drowning in darkened circles give you a once over, the seemingly bottomless well of green in each one impossible for you to turn away from. All too soon the appraisal stops, Himiko’s father bringing a hand to rub the stubble dusting his chin.
“...I thought you said that he was tall?”
You have no idea what to say to that, your brain unable to comprehend what your height has to do with anything. Wonder why he isn’t looking at you like he’s waiting for you to show your true colors and brainwash his son, waiting for you to give him a reason to treat you like almost everyone else does.
But then Himiko steps directly in front of you, staring intently at your face as he raises a hand atop his own head before stepping back to compare the difference in height between you. A difference that, as he confirms, is still close to a full six inches. He then spins back towards his father, a smug look already settling across his face.
Toga’s father raises an eyebrow, his mouth quirking up into a poorly repressed smirk.
“Himi, princess, newborn babies look tall compared to you.”
“PAPA-!!!”
Wind up being dragged into Himiko’s house by the wrist, your worries soon forgotten in the face of being welcomed into a family like you’ve always belonged there.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Find yourself thinking of the Toga’s household as the closest thing to a real home you’ve ever had.
Grow familiar with the layout to the point where, on the nights where you stay over, you’re able to make your way to the bathroom without even opening your eyes.
Grow used to the smell of cinnamon in the air, to the way Himiko’s father, Akira, insists on cooking whatever you so much as hint that you like. Realize that you’ve never heard him raise his voice once and that, eventually, you stop flinching when he’s near you.
Discover how well he listens on the rare occasions you’re left alone with him whenever Himiko isn’t around. Slowly open up to him, something you don’t even realize you’re doing until you find yourself weeping into his chest after trying to explain why you never talk about home. About why you never mention friends besides Himiko.
Feel red-hot shame crash over you the next morning, only for Akira to make no mention of it in the morning. He just gives your bedhead a gentle ruffle at breakfast as he passes by your seat, placing your plate of food down at the same time.
Wonder if this is what having a father feels like.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Be terrified when Himiko, out of nowhere, says he has something really important to tell you after school.
Feel your thoughts instantly turn to imaginary futures where he’s finally grown tired of you, where he’s been convinced by someone, somehow, that you aren’t worth being around. That he hates you now.
Wait for him on the school’s roof, anxiety clawing its way through your guts and sweat beading on your palms. Begin pacing back and forth, trying to desperately come up with a way to change your only friend’s mind. Try not to cry as you fail to come up with anything convincing.
Hear the rooftop door squeak open, Himiko’s arrival sending your stomach crashing down into your shoes. Wish that you’d done more, that you hadn’t gotten so complacent with things. Maybe then it wouldn’t have to end like this.
Turn to face your soon to be ex friend and realize that he’s not wearing his usual grin. He looks as nervous as you feel, almost as terrified as you are on the inside. For some reason he’s the one that looks afraid of what’s about to happen.
You do what you can to smother the nausea roiling in your guts and offer up an awkward greeting. Himiko reciprocates, his expression still far from the usual cheer and confidence you’re used to.
Seconds pass as silence continues to dominate the air, but you can’t bring yourself to ask what he wanted to discuss. It feels so certain that doing so will only bring this single happy chapter of your life to a close. You know you’re being a coward, but you can’t bear the thought of losing him after going so long without him.
And then Himiko speaks.
“Um, Hitoshi… There’s something I’ve been keeping from you, but I was scared that...”
The hesitation in his voice makes you want to puke, your worst fears steadily coalescing into reality.
Himiko takes a breath to steady himself, his hands uncharacteristically clutching onto his own forearms for support. You’ve never seen him act like this before, never seen him so unsure of anything.
“I was scared of how you’d react… And, I- I think I still sort of am, but-”
You brace yourself for the inevitable impact, your head aching as a migraine rears its ugly head and begins roaring within your skull. Turning your gaze upwards at the blue sky overhead lets you avoid seeing the look on Himiko’s face as he gets steadily closer to the words you can’t bear to hear.
The words that will break you.
[I can’t be friends with you anymore]
[I’ve always been scared of you]
[I was just pretending]
[Don’t talk to me anymore]
[Go away]
[You used your Quirk on me, didn’t you]
[You’re a Villain in the making]
[I shouldn’t have saved you back then]
[I HATE YOU ]
“-But I’m- I’m, well, I-”
Suddenly the sound of choked sobs echoes out on the rooftop, tearing your eyes away from the sky. Your heart freezes when you realize that it’s coming from Himiko, his face twisted up into a pained mess of tears from behind the arm he’s using to cover his leaking eyes.
Everything fighting for dominance inside your head and chest, the fear of rejection, the hatred for the hand you were dealt in life, the pain of isolation; it all dissolves at the sight of your only friend crying in front of you.
You don’t even consider the consequences, your body already in the act of moving.
A heartbeat later and you’ve wrapped Himiko up in the best hug you can manage, the sobs still wracking his small frame reverberating through your very marrow. You hold onto him tightly, pressing his face into the crook of your shoulder and whisper that it’s okay, everything is okay because you’re here.
“B-but I’m so scared th-that you’ll h-hate me-!!!”
You gently stroke the back of his head, carding your fingers through his shoulder length hair. You tell him that you could never hate him. Never. Not in a million, trillion years.
A few minutes go by with the two of you holding onto the other for dear life, your best friend’s crying slowly petering out into barely audible whimpers. You let him stay like that for as long as he needs to, more than willing to wait until the sun sets if that’s what it takes for him to feel even the teeniest bit better.
Eventually, Himiko composes himself enough to pull away and wipe his, still running, nose on the back of his uniform’s sleeve. When he looks back up at you it takes everything you have not to reach out and brush his tears away. Thankfully, you don’t have to restrain yourself for long because he seems to gather up enough courage to finally get out the words that triggered this whole emotional roller-coaster in the first place.
“Hitoshi… I’m… I’m not really... a boy.”
Your confusion must be written plainly on your face because Himiko hurriedly attempts to clarify what he (she?) really meant.
“I- Well, I was born as a male, but… I- Augh, why does this have to be so hard?!”
You realize that the best thing you can do right now is just let your friend search for the words she(?) needs. The only thing you allow yourself to do is tell Himiko that there’s no need to rush.
“I’m- Hitoshi, I’m transgender and I actually identify as a girl and the last time I told anyone I had to move because things got so bad that I couldn’t stay there anymore and Papa said I shouldn’t be afraid to open up about it, especially with you, but I don’t want to lose you and please don’t be mad-!”
The words all fall out in a tangled mess, Himiko’s face scrunching back up after getting them out as if she’s expecting you to retaliate in some way.
It takes a second for you to fully process everything she just said, some of the terms only vaguely familiar to you. You have a basic understanding of how gender is less like a coin with only two sides and more of a spectrum like waves of light, but you’ve never looked into it the subject beyond questions about why you didn’t only find girls attractive.
However, when Himiko doesn’t get a response right away, you see her face visibly pale and her shoulders begin trembling again as she starts trying to fully pull herself away from you.
You wrench your brain from its standstill and firmly say, in no uncertain terms, that if Himiko isn’t a boy then that’s fine. If Himiko is actually a girl, then that’s perfectly fine. You tell her that she’s still your best friend, that you’re not angry with her, and that you’re not going anywhere.
You tell her that she’s valid and you still love her, no matter what.
The embarrassment over your unintended confession only lasts until Himiko abruptly hugs you so tightly that you’re pretty sure you hear your ribs crack.
But that’s okay.
Everything is still okay.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Be the first person to see Himiko wear your school’s female uniform when she invites you over for the weekend like usual. Honestly tell her that it looks good on her, especially now that she’s styling her hair into buns instead of letting it haphazardly trail down her back like before.
Remember the way Akira places his hand on your shoulder and tells you to take good care of his daughter, much to the embarrassed yelling of said daughter immediately after.
Feel the heat of a blush burn the skin of your face when Himiko smiles at you, unsure if you should be allowed to feel as happy as you do in that moment.
Hope that things stay like this forever.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Be the one who notices that Himiko isn’t back from helping put away some old gym equipment.
Assume that she’s probably just gotten distracted or, more likely, she’s just not tall enough to put it all away on her own and she’s just too stubborn to ask for help.
Hear the muted sounds of shouting from inside the gym’s storage room, your pulse suddenly too loud in your ears.
Feel anger threatening to erupt from underneath your skin like lava from a vengeful volcano when you wrench the door open.
Blink away spots in your vision as everything begins blurring, your eyes unsure if what you’re seeing is real or some sort of bad dream.
Himiko is pressed up against the wall of the gym’s storage room with her uniform torn in several spots as several boys that you remember by the feel of their fists and feet against your skin hovering around her like hungry sharks. One of them has Himiko’s hands held above her head by the wrists and another is brandishing a permanent marker, the beginnings of crude words already drawn onto her exposed legs and arms.
They all turn to face you, their expressions morphing from fear of being caught to smug relief when they see its just you.
The weakling that they’ve walked all over for years. The freak with a Quirk that alienates him from everyone else. The boy who doesn’t have a real family, who never has parents to brag about or to introduce during school festivals. The outcast that’s always alone.
They never see the first punch coming until it’s too late.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Sit in solemn silence in the hallway in front of the principal’s office.
Rub the back of your hand underneath your nose to scrape away some of the blood crusting your upper lip. Wince as a fresh bolt of pain shoots through your head, the black eye warping the left side of your face still tender.
Himiko sits beside you, her trademark smile absent for what feels like the first time.
You don’t know what to say, the memory of the fight in the storage room a jumbled mess of colors and sound. The only things you know for sure are that you collectively broke a nose, a pair of glasses and one of your own fingers and… that Himiko is safe. The former is nice and all, but the latter is what’s most important.
A sudden warmth on your hand prompts you to look over and see Himiko’s smaller hand covering your own. At some point, you can’t seem to remember when, she’s managed to scrub away the permanent marker until only the barest of smudges remain.
She meets your eyes and you can see the beginning of tears forming. You open your mouth to say something to stymie the flow, but suddenly the door of the principal’s office opens.
You simply offer up a crumbling smile of your own, Himiko’s features twisting into a tangled mess of emotions you don’t get enough time to puzzle out.
Stepping through into the principal’s office feels like the opening act of a public execution.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Avoid expulsion by the skin of your teeth, by virtue of your exceptional grades and no small amount of luck. The incident gets chalked up to a one-time incident, which still nets you with more than a month’s worth of detention, but you get to stay.
Half a year ago that would’ve been just as much of a punishment as everything else, but things are different now. Now you’re not alone. You have someone that believes in you, someone to rely on and someone who relies on you in turn.
The other boys are not so fortunate. Not when Akira sweeps into the school like a force of nature, his thunderous expression one of utter fury. The sound of his booming voice, the only time you’ve ever heard him yell, practically shaking the school’s very foundations.
The boys from the storage room never come back to school, even if the reason gets buried under mountains of gossip and fabrications by the school’s administration.
You can’t find it in you to care, not when Akira’s first words to you after the dust settles is how thankful he is that you were there. How he can never do enough to repay you for protecting his daughter. How the scars left behind on your finger and the fading bruise on your face are proof that you’ll be a great Hero someday.
He calls you ‘son’ for the first time that day and you can’t help the tears that follow.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
You don’t stop getting into fights, never stop being the target of bullies that think you need to be taught your place in a world that’s already decided what you’ll turn into.
Instead, you learn how to assess and act. You learn how to tell which fights are worth seeing through until the end, which ones should be fled from and which ones you can afford to lose. You break bones and earn scars that you hide with long sleeves and pants, and you return in kind whenever you can.
You get into trouble more than you should, but far less than you could. Push the limits of what you can do with your Quirk, even when you know that getting caught could result in serious consequences. Realize that if you don’t want to be caught after using it, you won’t.
Ruminate on what that would’ve meant if you really did choose to become a Villain.
Decide that it doesn’t matter anymore.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
After that day in the storage room, Himiko resolves to never let something like it happen ever again.
She promises you that she won’t turn into a princess in a castle that needs to be rescued. That she’d rather be the dragon that everyone knows better than to disturb. She convinces her father to let her learn how to fight, how to defend herself from people three times her size.
She takes to fiddling with blades, with growing used to the weight of a knife in her palm as she simultaneously becomes capable of disarming someone with their own.
Listen when she explains that if someone wants to touch her again, that she’ll make sure they walk away with less fingers than when they started. Pause when she asks you, without a trace of humor, if you’d help her hide a body if worst came to worst.
Feel a wicked grin split your face when you realize that, yes, you absolutely would.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Watch the seasons change as you push yourself to be better every single day.
Run until you puke, study until you dream of equations and textbook diagrams. Build up callouses on your palms and a terrifying ability to respond to even the most stressful situations without blinking.
Forget what it was like to not have Himiko watching your back, always there to be the anchor you need to ground yourself in the darkest of days. She walks alongside you and, despite it all, the two of you manage to survive within the walls of a school that came dangerously close to making something dangerous by breaking you.
Instead, you both resolve to follow the same dream and become the very thing you’ve been told was impossible.
You both apply to U.A. and receive your acceptance letters on the same day.
- □ □ □ □ □ -
Be the only person able to react to the sight of Nedzu’s corpse being tossed onto the ground by a Villain strong enough to create a crater simply by landing in time for it to matter.
Be the one who gets everyone else moving, the one who decides that someone has to stay behind and keep this monster occupied long enough for someone to get help. That a Villain capable of breaking in without triggering alarms after eliminating the principal could only be evidence of either overwhelming strength or a coordinated assault by a larger group.
Be the one that knows that, even if everyone else chooses to run, at least one other person will stay behind with you. Regardless of how much you’d rather she lives, know that if you chose to fight that she won’t even consider leaving you.
Be the one that Himiko trusts will find a way to win, regardless of how impossible the odds might be.
Be the one that refuses to betray that trust.
Be the Hero you always wanted to be.
Be Hitoshi Shinsou.
|
Chat Noir was back at the party within minutes and he found Max was examining Ladybug’s costume up close while Kim poked at her bicep.
‘No wonder you could beat me, check out your guns!’ Kim laughed. ‘Damn, I wish we’d had a school wrestling team, you’d have creamed the competition!’
‘That would have put me at an unfair advantage.’ Ladybug said.
‘Always so noble.’ Alya laughed as Chloé rolled her eyes.
‘Doesn’t being a goody goody ever get tiring?’ She asked.
‘Not really.’ Ladybug shrugged.
‘And I’ve been affected by enough akumas to know I don’t want to be anything but good.’ Chat said as he reached them, kissing Ladybug’s cheek before taking the bottle that Kim offered him.
‘How was your trip?’ She asked as he pulled her close against him.
‘Fun, as always. Your aim is just as good as ever.’
‘I think it’s fair to say that alcohol doesn’t have as much of an affect on us while suited.’ Ladybug turned back to their friends.
‘I still want to see how high you can jump.’ Kim said.
‘I want to see how drunk you are if you take the suit off after this much.’ Chloé added.
Ladybug shook her head. ‘I think I’m sleeping in the suit tonight.’ She laughed.
‘Kinky.’ Nino wiggled his eyebrows.
‘Shush.’ Ladybug glared at him as a blush stained her cheeks.
‘Do you all still want to see how high we can jump?’ Chat asked, looking around at their friends.
‘I’d like to see it.’ Jagged spoke first. ‘You don’t get an opportunity like this every day, right?’
The entire class seemed to agree, while Penny sort of shrugged apologetically, and Chat leant back to look down at his lady.
‘What do you think, Bugaboo? Give them what they want?’
‘Sure.’ She shrugged. ‘But we’ve never done this before, so I’m a little concerned about the landing.’
‘Could be rough.’ He agreed. ‘If you go high enough the impact is definitely going to leave a mark. Unless I catch you.’
She gave him an impressed look. ‘That could work.’
‘When you’re ready.’ He said before quickly kissing her again then taking another swig from the bottle he held before offering it to her.
‘I’m ready.’ She took a drink herself before handing the bottle back.
‘I don’t know how I’m going to get this on camera, Alya said as she backed up to the edge of the terrace, ‘but I’m damn well going to try!’
‘Okay.’ Ladybug said as Chat finally let her go, stepping backwards a few paces and handing the bottle over to Ivan. ‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’ Chat agreed.
‘Ready.’ Alya gave her a thumbs up and she realised that pretty much all of the class had their phones out too.
‘We’re not under any flightpaths, right?’ Nino asked with a laugh, and he was rewarded again with a single middle digit, this time from both heroes almost simultaneously.
Ladybug bent her knees as she drew her yo-yo, wanting it in hand in case she needed it, before pushing off with all her extra strength and soaring into the air. About halfway up she realised what a stupid idea this was. She had always hated free-falling, there were no other buildings around for her to yo-yo to if she needed it, she had literally just guaranteed herself an uncontrolled drop towards the roof of a building.
‘That’s pretty high.’ Kim said with a low whistle as Ladybug pretty much disappeared from view in the night sky.
‘She can’t fly, right?’ Jagged asked as he squinted. ‘Because, I mean, Ladybugs fly, don’t they?’
‘She can’t fly.’ Chat replied seriously. ‘Just like I don’t shed.’
‘That’s higher than I imagined.’ Max said in awe but it started worry building inside Chat’s chest.
‘I don’t like it.’ He said quietly. ‘I’m going after her.’
‘How?’ Alya asked, but even as she did he extended his staff rapidly, shooting himself straight up into the air.
‘You don’t actually think she’s in trouble, do you?’ Chloé asked warily.
‘I don’t think trouble is the right word.’ Alya replied. ‘But better safe than sorry.’
Ladybug’s ascent finally slowed and she knew the best thing to do would be to slow her fall like a skydiver. She turned as she began to fall, spreading her arms and legs to create drag, but she got no more than a few feet before she saw Chat coming towards her on his extending baton. She was relieved to see him and reached her arm out to him, allowing him to pull her to hims as his descent matched hers, meaning she didn’t throw him off balance.
‘Thanks, chaton.’ She sighed.
‘Never a problem, my lady.’ He looked at her lovingly. ‘I was suddenly less confident about your landing even if I was planning on catching you.’
‘Same.’ She replied. ‘I never have liked free-falling.’
‘At least you wouldn’t have been hurt.’
‘Not too much, but I might not have kept the buffet food down.’
‘Yuck.’ He pulled a face as their friends on the roof below came into focus as they approached. ‘I’m glad I came up to you, that being the case.’
‘Me too.’ She kissed his cheek.
‘I think that’s close enough.’ Alya said when they were about six foot from the ground.
‘Me too.’ Chloé replied with a grin, pushing Chat’s baton until it tipped, toppling the two heroes towards the rooftop pool.
The movement was so smooth and unexpected there was a moment when they realise what was about to happen and Ladybug managed to utter a small; yip!; of surprise before they both hit the surface and submerged immediately. By the time they reemerged the entire class were laughing, the camera still on them as Chloé took a small bow for her part in the plot.
‘Minou,’ Marinette said as she pushed her bangs out of her eyes, ‘I know we don’t condone revenge, but this time I think it’s an exception.’
‘Me too.’ He agreed as she threw her yo-yo to bind around Chloé’s waist and giving it a sharp tug. Chloé screamed as she fell into the water, resurfacing a second later with an angry look on her face.
‘How dare you! Do you know how much this dress cost?’ She sputtered.
‘I don’t care.’ Ladybug shrugged as Chat Noir drew her into a hug, pressing their bodies together in the water.
‘You know what they say?’ Jagged said as he turned to smirk at Nino.
‘What’s that?’ The DJ replied.
‘When in Rome…or in this case, Paris.’ He shoved Nino into the pool before jumping in himself, leather jacket and all, much to Penny’s horror.
‘Jagged! That jacket is one of a kind!’ She gasped as she rushed over to the pool, their other classmates jumping in, Alya last as she put down her phone.
‘Oh, come on, Penny, live a little.’ He reached up his hand as though to let her help him out but instead pulled her in. ‘I don’t need any other designers giving me looks, not while I have Marinette to do some designs for me.’ He looked across the pool to Ladybug. ‘Can we do that? Sort out a time for us to sit down and have a designing session?’
‘Sure.’ She grinned, amazed that he would even ask her.
‘We’ll talk another time.’ He winked at her before pulling Penny back off the ladder.
‘Wow.’ Ladybug breathed as Chat pulled her through the water towards the side where he effectively held her captive against the wall. ‘That’s an amazing opportunity.’
‘And to think, in a roundabout way, you have Chloé to thank for it.’ He grinned as he lowered his lips towards hers, water dripping off his hair as it hung around his face.
‘That’s a weird sentence.’ She replied as she pushed his hair away.
‘No weirder than being superheroes for the last four years.’ He murmured before stealing her breath with a kiss so heated he was surprised the pool water didn’t begin to steam.
|
I'm resting with Addor just outside Bastat, for some reason, these past few weeks I have felt completely and utterly exhausted. There are some mornings it is a struggle to get up, and other days my usual vigor is sapped from my body. Sometimes, resting with Addor, who is cool and provides shade, is all I can do some days.
Addor lifts his head and sighs. "Lady Chiyo," he replies. "There is something different about you."
I grunt and stroke his side. "What do you mean?"
Addor lowers his head down towards me and sniffs me. I push against his nose, and he growls low in his throat.
"What?" I sigh.
He inches close again, smelling my skin and hair. "From the look of things, I believe you're with child." He says.
If glare up at him in shock. "Excuse me?" I scoff and stand up. "My sister is the one who is pregnant."
"That isn't what I said," Addor growls. "I said that YOU are the pregnant one."
I shake my head at him, defiant that I am not. "You must smell her on me!"
Addor sighs. "Fine. Do not believe me, dear friend. I have simply been alive for centuries and have seen many children. But you? You know better."
I scoff, kicking sand at him before storming back home. As I reach my house, I feel myself start to swoon. I try to shake the woozy sensation from my head.
"Lady Chiyo, are you alright?" Seif comes up behind me, balancing me before I toppled over. "You don't look so well."
I push off him. "I'm fine. I'm just fine."
"Let me walk you home," Seif says.
He leads me into my home where Othet is meditating on the stone hearth. He stands up, a concerned look at his face.
"What's wrong? You look pale," he takes me from Seif, and I grimace.
"I'm fine!" I huff. "There's nothing wrong with me."
Othet takes me over to the bed, but I refuse to lay down.
"Chiyo," he uses a stern voice with me, and I chuckle. "What?"
I smile up at him. "You sound like Penu." My laugh turns into a dreary sigh. "You sound like a dad."
Othet touches my forehead and frowns. "You're not well," he makes me lie on the bed, and he removes my head covering. "You're a little warm. That's not good." He makes me drink water, and he takes out his diving crystal.
"Put that thing away," I grumble. "I'm telling you, Othet I'm fine."
"I'm not risking it," Othet huffs. "Just be still for a moment while I do this."
I lay back and sigh, relaxing in the shade of the hut felt nice. Even after the ridiculous thing, Addor said, maybe I am getting a little sick.
Othet gasps and I peel my eyes open to look at him. "What?"
Othet's face goes through a range of emotions. He looks confused then startled, shocked, then elated. He lays his paw on my stomach.
"Oh no!" I sit up, shoving his paw away. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Calm down!" Othet grabs me.
I struggle against him. "No! You're all crazy! There's nothing there!"
"Chiyo!" Othet grabs me and holds me still. "Chiyo, the baby," he whispers.
I whimper, and the tears start to come. "No," I cry, and I fall into Othet's arms. I cling to him, and he holds me tight.
"Aren't you happy?" Othet asks. "Don't you want a baby?"
I tremble and shake my head. "I'm scared," I whisper.
Othet looks me in the eye, wiping away my tears. "Chiyo," he whispers. "I have never seen you afraid. Why are you now?"
"I don't want to be like my mother," I confess. "She gave birth to me and was never the same again. I don't want to have a child and then not have the strength to raise it. It is my baby, it will be wild!"
Othet chuckles and kisses me. "Your sister has given birth to three, and with the fourth on the way she is stronger than ever." He brushes the hair from my face. "Your mother gave birth to you under horrible circumstances. You will give birth healthy and surrounded by love and comfort. You can be here or in the High Country with your sister."
"I want to be here," I whimper. "But-" I cling to Othet, and he kisses my forehead.
"No buts, save for the ass of our little one," he comforts me.
I blubber and sob into his shoulder. Othet rubs my back, holding me until I'm done.
Penu confirms the pregnancy, assuring me that I will be safe and healthy when the baby arrives.
"If I am to be a grandfather, I will see to every moment of this journey," he beams at you. "I did everything I could for your mother, but the damage was done already. You are starting out stronger than most."
"I'ms till scared Penu," I murmur, my arm clasped around my stomach. "I'm used to being a warrior, not a mother."
"Are children not little battles?" Penu asks. "Do they not fight and scream and cause war?" he grins at me, petting my cheek. "Warriors beget warriors," he winks. "I should know, I raised both you and Othet."
"Yeah, but Othet was a good kid," I laugh.
"Not with you around," Penu offers me a drink. "This will help with the fatigue. The little one is getting all the nutrients while you are left with the scraps, so your body unbalanced."
I grimace. "Oh, that's awful."
"Most good things are. Finish it up. All of it." He tilts the bowl back to my mouth. "There you go, last drop."
I cough and wipe my mouth. "That will help?"
"Drink it with every meal and before bed, and it will," Penu says.
I scoff. "I can't drink this four times a day!"
He taps my belly. "Unless you want to get eaten by the baby, you will." He then looks at me. "I also suggest you go and visit your sister when she gives birth so you can prepare yourself. Birth is beautiful, but it is also vicious."
"Is it worse than being stabbed?" I ask.
"I am not sure. I am merely a man. But I have birthed just about every child in this village since I was sixteen," he says. "I have seen the women in pain, and I have seen men in pain. Men don't know anything about pain."
"Oh," I grumble, fidgeting in my seat.
"You sister has had three already, correct?" He asks. "She is a wealth of knowledge to you, especially since you are sisters. Your bodies are similar, and she will know the struggles you will face. I highly suggest you and Othet witness this next birth."
Othet agreed, and when the time was right, we traveled to the High Country to be with Mythri during her final month. I am nearing my fifth month and have started to show. I am also ravenously hungry all the time, so I am excited to be in the palace where I can eat without shame.
Mythri is on bed rest, and her belly is like a mountain under the sheets. She rubs and kisses my belly, whispering sweet nothings to my child.
"You're quite big for five months," she says. "That's how I was with Himank and Dhaval," she replies.
"Do not curse me, sister," I scold her. "I cannot handle two at once!"
Mythri giggles and rubs her own belly. "It is a blessing," she replies.
I huff and glance out the window, looking at the sunset. "Does it hurt?"
"They all hurt," she answers. "It is unbearable and unending."
I squeeze her hand tight.
"But, it is worth it," she replies. "The moment you hold that baby in your arms it all fades away. Nothing matters but keeping them from pain."
I glance back at Mythri. "I'm so scared."
Mythri pulls me down and cuddles me. "That is normal. When the boys were born, I was completely out of my mind. I had no clue what to do. But Amit was there, and he made the world make sense. Othet will do the same if you need it."
"I'm not worried about that. Othet is like Penu, he's made to be a parent. I'm worried that I won't be a good mother," I murmur.
Mythri runs her fingers through my hair. "You will be, in time. It doesn't happen all at once. Instinct kicks in for the first few months, and after that, you learn. You grow with the baby."
I take a deep breath and place my hand on her belly. I feel the baby kick and my eyes grow wide. "Did you feel that?"
Mythri grimaces. "All the time. This little one will not stop moving! I swear, I'm going to bound their legs when they get out, or else they're coming out running."
I smile, rubbing her belly. "You said Amit is hoping for another girl?"
"He loves his Damini so, he's hoping for a copy of her," Mythri chuckles. "We want to name her Tali."
My eyes grow wide, "After mother?"
Mythri smiles up at me. "But who knows? We usually choose a name that we feel when we first hold the baby. So we shall see."
Not long after, I am woken from my slumber by one of Mythri's nurses. Othet and I are rushed to the royal bedchamber where Mythri is huffing and puffing. Amitis by her side, holding her up and letting her squeeze the living daylights out of his hand. I join Mythri at her side, fanning her and keeping her hair from her face. She screams and cries, and there is blood, lots of it.
For hours she pushes and screams, crying to Amit. Finally, one final push and the screams of the new baby fill the air. The doctor washes the baby, and it screams and screams and screams. The baby has lungs that could make Bastat turn her head.
Finally, the little bundle is placed in Mythri's arms. "It's another prince," the doctor replies with a hushes voice.
Amit looks displeased, after all, he was looking forward to another daughter. But when he holds the new baby in his arms, his usually stern expression melts. He kisses and whispers to the baby as it whines and whimpers.
"Chirayu," Mythri says suddenly.
I turn to her, seeing her beaming at me. "After his aunt."
I blink tears from my eyes, gasping as Amit hands the little boy over to me. I look at him, seeing he is all squirming and pink. His eyes aren't even open yet.
"Chirayu," I whisper to him. "Hi," my voice trembles.
We stay another few weeks before heading home to Bastat. Penu and the rest of the tribe have gotten the house ready for us. They've got a new bed and have set up the crib for the baby. They've made toys and blankets, and have stocked the house with supplies.
As I enter my last few months, my belly swells to gigantic proportions. I'm placed in bed rest, barely able to even walk without assistance.
One day, to my shock, Mythri and Amit arrive in the village. Chirayu has gotten chubby, and his fur has grown in.
"What are you doing here?" I gasp as Mythri kisses me.
"We've come to help take care of you," she replies. "Plus, we want to see the baby as well. Or, babies I suppose." She touches my belly.
"I told you not to curse me!" I huff.
"Perhaps we were already cursed," Mythri chuckles as she sits beside me, baby Chirayu chewing on her hand.
"I'm glad you're here," I whisper to her. "Seeing you makes me feel better."
Mythri squeezes my hand, bouncing Chirayu on her other arm. "Seeing you made me feel better too. That's how I knew we had to be here."
"Are you sure?" I ask. "What about the restorations?"
"It'll be fine!" Mythri insists. "Kalidas is there, and he knows how to handle things." He pets my hair from my face. "Addor greeted us when we got here, he's anxious."
"He can't enter the village, so he has to rely on messages from Othet," I grunt as I try to adjust myself.
Mythri helps me, propping me up just enough so I can get a drink of water.
"The boys said they would keep him company," Mythri chuckles. "They absolutely adore him."
"Boys and dragons," I scoff. I squeeze Mythri's hand again and sigh. "I really am happy you're here."
One evening, I'm woken by horrible pains. The birth has started. Everything happens in a whirlwind, and I'm so overwhelmed by pain that it's all a blur to me. One moment I'm alone with Othet, in the next, Mythri is there. A few moments later I'm screaming. I can't remember up or down or time at all.
The next thing I know, I'm waking up to the sound of rain. Blinking through the fog in my eyes I feel someone squeezing my hand. I look up, seeing Mythri sitting beside me. Behind her, Othet is holding a baby, and on the other side of the Amit is holding another.
"Which one is mine?" My voice cracks.
Mythri helps me sit up. "I'm sorry, my dear," she sighs. "You were cursed."
I stare in stunned silence as both babies are placed in my arms. They're pink and fuzzy, but they look very much like their father. Tiny little stumps show where their fangs will grow in. Othet sits beside me, kissing my temple.
"We need to decide names," he says. "For the boy and the girl."
I whimper and sniffle. "Maitri," I reply. "I match her aunt," I whisper to the little girl. "And Chi," I murmur. "I carry on his love."
Othet kisses me again and hugs me close. "I was hoping you'd do that."
"Maitri is first born," Mythri tells me. "Chi took a little time coming out."
I open my robes, letting the children feed. "Well, at least this part will be easy," I grumble. "I have two of these."
Othet laughs. "Now, now, you will have many hands helping you. No need to worry." He rubs my back and kisses my hair.
I lean back into the pillows, listening to the twins grunt and burble as they nurse. "This will suck when their teeth come in."
Mythri giggles and sits beside me. "It will, but hopefully they will ween before then."
I look up at her and smile. "I want to introduce them to Addor, is there anyway?"
"You need your bed rest," Mythri warns me. "And I wouldn't take the children out just yet. Not until their eyes open."
I frown, if anyone deserved to see them, it was Addor. After all, he was the one who first became aware of them. It was also because of him they were even in this world. Without Addor on your side, I would have been dead during the war on Rakshasa.
Othet and Amit build a bed on wheels with a canopy over it. With it, they are able to take the babies and me to the edge of Bastat where Addor is.
"I see," Addor murmurs as he looks into the canopy. "You've outdone yourself, Lady Chiyo." He places his nose near Maitri's scalp and sniffs.
Maitri burbles and kicks her legs, grunting at the sudden breeze on her head, but she doesn't cry.
"Hopefully, they will grow up to be just like you," Addor murmurs. "We need more people in the world like you."
"Thank you Addor," I murmur. "I'm sure you'll be around to see that day."
Two months later, a procession arrives at Bastat. At this time, I am able to walk around again, so I leave Othet with the children while I go out to see what is coming. To my shock, it is Demir and his caravan arriving.
"Lady Chiyo!" Demir rushes forward and kneels down before me. "I heard the wonderful news from your sister! I simply had to come and bring my blessing directly to you."
"Lord Demir," I gasp, stunned by his arrival. "This is unnecessary. You could have sent a letter, and that would have been enough."
"Nonsense!" Demir scolds. "You are one of my most treasured allies, and I owe you a great deal." He squeezes my hands. "The least I could do was come here myself. Besides, I wanted to see the children myself."
"And what about your new baby?" I ask him.
A woman walks up beside Demir, holding a large bundle in her arms. "This is my wife, Dali," Demir says and takes the bundle. "And this, is my little prince, Orrick."
The little centaur in his arms is colored just like his father, but his hair is curly and wild like his mother's. I greet Dali, hugging her and taking her hand as we walk into the village.
Right away, Demir goes for Maitri. He holds her and bounces her, cooing gently to her.
"Mythri stills refuses to let her daughter and out son be betrothed," Dali whispers to me. "You may want to watch out," she warns. "He wants connections to the Rakshasa that will stand the test of time." She then rolls her eyes and sighs.
"Is his mind always going like that?" I ask.
Dali laughs, bouncing Chi in her arms. "Always," he laughs. "Had you not married Othet, Demir wanted you as a second wife," she smirks.
My eyes widen, and my jaw hangs open.
Dali laughs. "He is extremely fond of you. I don't blame him. You're beautiful like Mythri but a warrior like Demir. Too bad. Othet is a lucky man. Meeting you now, I wouldn't have minded one bit sharing a bed with you."
"Thank you?" I say unsurely.
"Chiyo, Maitri and Orrick are already getting along!" Demir exclaims excitedly. He has the two on the bed together. Little Orrick is petting Maitri while she squirms around on her belly.
"Told you," Dali whispers. "Put your foot down now, or they'll be married before we leave the village."
|
(1)
Hattie walked into the Avengers living room in the tower to find Loki sitting on one of the chairs reading a book. It had been 6 months since the battle for New York and 2 month since Thor came back with his wayward brother in toe saying that Loki had also been controlled and had been staying in their healing ward before the All-Father decided to punish him by sending him to the Avengers for a year for what had happened in New Mexico.
So far everything had been going good, while as good as it could be. Apart from the other Avengers showing what they thought about having to work and live with him. it seemed that Tony and her (Thor didn't count as he was hardly ever there) were the only ones happy to have Loki as a part of the team.
Hattie shook her head and started to make her way over to Loki, when Natasha (or whatever name she was going by) step in front of her handing her the watch that she had designed and Tony made when they were designing equipment for the Avengers as apart of their family bonding time, that was a two way contactor looking very broken.
"What happened to it?" she asked, trying to figure out what had happened to the watch that would make it look like someone took a hammer to it.
"It's not important, but I need you to fix it as I have a mission to go on first thing tomorrow morning."
"Frist thing tomorrow! But it completely broken. I'll have to start from scratch! As Tony's not here, It will take me the whole night and even then it might not be done in time."
"You best got on with it then"
(2)
Hattie made her way over to Loki who was reading, she wanted to ask him about the type of magic they have and Asgard and if he would show her some spells. She didn't know why but she always got nervous whenever she tried to talk to him, that she would mess up her words and say something stupid.
However, it seemed that luck wasn't on her side and she walked right into Clint, who was carrying a glass of orange juice. Which was a little strange as he hated the stuff.
"Sorry. Didn't see you there" he said,
"Didn't worry it's fine, I can clean it".
she turned around and walked in the direction of her rooms to get a clean top.
(3)
Hattie looked around her at the broken houses. The Avengers had apparently just fought some crazy guy who wanted to destroy the city for some weird reason, anyway as she was looking around she saw that Loki was move rubble out of the way so that the emergency people could help the ones hurt. As she started to make her way over to see if she could help, she was stopped by Sam.
"Cap wants you to know that you're suspended."
"Why?"
"Because you weren't here."
"Yeah, I know. I was in England attending my godson's grandmother's funeral. As well as arranging for him to come live here with me."
"Yeah, well your duty is to the team first."
As Sam walked away she noticed that Loki had gone.
(4)
Hattie sat at the table munching on a sandwich, as she thought of how to tell Loki that she loved him when Wanda come in.
Wanda sneered and said "You really are pathetic aren't you, just like your murdering cousin. You think that someone like him would go for someone like you. Please, why would he go for a broken used up toy, who keeps having nightmares about her pathetic little life, when he can have a shiny new one."
Hattie got up from her seat, deciding to get out of the room, before the bitch (err she meant sad excuse of a witch) could say something that will end with her kicking her ass (which was a really lovely though really).
"One that doesn't come with a freak of a child either."
O,h second thoughts.
Hattie turned to see that Wanda's hands were already red and coming up, Hattie quickly sent a hex at Wanda which sent her flying to the other said of the room.
(this resulted in her been taken off the team pertinently, for attacking kid even thought said 'kid' was in fact a 26 year old woman)
(5)
Hattie walked to the tower, having been to town to get some ingredients for Teddy birthday cake. When she bumped into Loki.
"Sorry," he said as he helped her right her balance.
"No it's fine, i wasn't looking were i was going" she replied, offering him a small smile.
They stood there looking at each other for a few minutes, Loki opened his mouth to say something only to be interrupted by Rogers.
"Loki, we going on a mission. There's a bank robbery, we're going to help"
"I heard about that, and the police have it covered. Anyway, there are hostages and if you lot go changing in there, then there is a huge risk that the hostages will be killed."
"NOW! Loki"
with that Rogers turned and ran off to were the others were.
"You're going aren't you?" she asked.
"Yes. Someone has to try and stop them from getting, innocents killed because they stick their noses in were their not needed. Pus the err...witch really shouldn't be on the battlefield. I'll speak to you later"
"Yeah, speak to you later."
A flame of worry danced in her chest as she watched him go.
(+1)
They had done it.
They had won.
They had beaten Thanos, after a long and gruelling bloody battle but at the same time in a way, they had lost, they had lost many good friends, they lost loved ones who would never be forgotten.
The New Avengers looked around them, as white sheets covered the bodies of the ones who had fallen, buildings were nothing more the broken rubble. The sky was dark as anything as the havens opened and rained as if the earth too was morning the loss of life.
Hattie was gone.
The last time Tony had saw his cousin was when she ran into a burning to evacuate the people who were trapped inside , all the people got out but the building clasps before she could. They held out hope but when the battle ended and there was still no sign of her, they took that as a sign as she had died when the building clasps. They was about to make their way over to medical when Carol gasped.
They all turned around and saw Hattie walking across the rubble, looking bloody but she was alive and that was the many thing.
Carol turned to Loki and said "Go to her. You almost lost her once, next you might not be this Lucky"
And that was Loki needed to hear to get him to run to her.
His arms wrapped around her waist hold her tightly to him, after that this was all some type of twisted dream that he would walk up from, to find that she really had died.
He bent his head down and pulled her into a kiss.
Hattie happily kissed Loki back.
|
Aizawa hadn't spoken yet. His mind was racing. He had so many questions. Maybe he could pretend the whole thing didn't happen. No, he couldn't do that. He had to know the truth. "Hey."
Mic looked up at him. "Yeah?"
"I need to know." He shifted, kneeling on the chair so he'd be closer to eye level with him. He sighed. "Why are you eating pizza? It's not even two o'clock yet."
"Oh." Mic spoke in between bites. "Well, I was hungry and time isn't real. Plus, babies always eat at weird times. I wanted to make sure I had something to give you if you got hungry."
Aizawa rolled his eyes. "How thoughtful."
Mic either didn't detect the sarcasm or he willfully ignored it. "So have you been wearing the same clothes since the fight?"
Aizawa looked down at his clothes. His clothes did not go through any transformations, so he had ended up ditching his pants and shoes. His shirt served as a sort of dress. "I don't exactly have anything that would actually fit right now." Aizawa shook his head. "I can wear this until I change back. It's not going to be that long."
"Ok, we're getting you new clothes." Mic got up, wiping his hands off on his pants.
"Are you even listening to me?"
"You've been wearing a shirt covered in dirt and dried blood for over twenty four hours. I don't care if you're going to change back in two seconds, you need to get out of that." Mic grinned at him. "You'll feel a bit better too."
"I doubt it." He rubbed his eyes. "There's no use trying to convince you, though." He outstretched his arms to Mic. There was a beat of silence.
"Are you-? Do you want me to pick you up?" He tried to hide the smile in his voice, but he was still obviously delighted.
"Hizashi, have I ever-in my entire life-willingly walked anywhere?" He did not lower his arms. "If you're forcing me to go out, you're going to have to pay the consequences."
He laughed. "Alright, alright. Fair enough." He scooped him up and headed out. "It's a lot easier to carry you when you're this small. Remember that winter dance back in high school? I tried to carry you but I ended up dragging you in the mud."
"Yeah, and then you rubbed mud all over your suit so we'd match. You're so ridiculous sometimes." He rested his head against his chest. "I think that ended up costing you a girlfriend."
"That wasn't why we split up!" He laughed a little and glanced away. "I actually broke up with her, not the other way around."
Aizawa was surprised, naturally. "I didn't think you had it in you to turn down a girl. Why?"
He shrugged. "I had to be honest with her, and with myself. I told her I was in love with someone else."
He had never told him this before. He tried to think of who Present Mic had dated next, but no names came to mind. "Well, that obviously didn't work out."
He gripped him a little tighter. "Yeah, I guess not." He almost sounded a little sad. This was not like him and made Aizawa uncomfortable. So he headbutted him in the chest. Mic stumbled back. "What was that for?"
He looked up at him. "Don't be so careless with your feelings. If you give away your love so easily, you're bound to get hurt. It's annoying."
Mic laughed. "Thanks, but I don't need relationship advice from a toddler. Sorry if I freaked you out. That was then..." His eyes drifted away again. "And now is now."
Aizawa settled back down. "...right." His thoughts found their way back to earlier, when Present Mic thought he was asleep. He stared down at the ground. "We're friends, right?"
Mic raised an eyebrow. "Well I sure hope so. Otherwise I might actually get in trouble for kidnapping you." Aizawa cracked a small smile. "Ah, that's the first grin I've gotten out of you today!"
"I take it back, we're not friends."
"So mean!" Mic tsked as they entered the store. He set him down into a shopping cart. "How fast am I allowed to push you?"
"No matter what I say, I know you're going to push it as fast as you possibly can. Honestly, you're a bigger child than I am right now."
"If you say so, short stuff." He started walking through the store. "Hey, I've got a question. I didn't know you when you were this young. Is this really what you looked like back then?"
He looked at his hands. "I guess so. Is it really that unbelievable?"
"I just can't believe anyone's parents would let them get away with such long hair as a kid. My moms would've killed me."
He pulled on a strand of his fluffy black hair, straightening out the subtle waves. "It's hardly over my ears. It's not that long."
"It needs brushing." He grabbed a little white shirt with a black cat printed on the front. "Would you wear this?"
"Mhm." He scanned the racks and noticed a shirt with the words ALL MIGHT printed across it. He pointed at it. "What do you think will happen if I wear that and he sees?"
Mic snickered. "I think he'll die of embarrassment. We should definitely get it." He grabbed it and threw a couple pair of shorts into the cart. "What else are you going to need?"
He thought for a moment. "A scarf."
"Dude, it's like eighty degrees outside. You'll die."
Aizawa was confused for a second, but then realized what he was trying to say. "You're not in America, use Celsius like the rest of the world."
"It's hot. That work for you?" As they turned down a new aisle, Mic noticed it was empty. He grinned. "Okay, I'm going to push you as fast as I can. You ready?"
Aizawa sighed like it was a nuisance more than anything else. "Go for it." Mic took a slow step back and then shoved the cart forward with all his might, nearly falling over in the process. The cart went hurtling towards the other end of the aisle. A woman happened to walk by at that time and instinctively caught the cart, lurching Aizawa forward onto his face.
"Woah! Woah!" She did not move for a moment, frozen with shock. Her brown hair went down to her shoulders and her eyes were a soft shade of green. She was relatively pretty, and couldn't have been older than twenty five. Aizawa sat back up with a groan. "Oh my god. Are you okay?" Mic hurried over.
"Nice save!" He held up a hand that she hesitantly high-fived. He noticed her eyeing Aizawa worriedly. "Oh don't worry about him, we used to do this all the time. You good?" Aizawa gave him a thumbs up. He smiled at the lady. "See?"
"You really shouldn't..." She glanced at Mic and did a double take. "Wait a minute, are you Present Mic?" He nodded. "Oh my god, could I get an autograph? My daughter-she isn't much older than your boy-" she motioned to Aizawa, "is a huge fan of yours."
Present Mic was clearly ecstatic. He loved attention."Sure!" She gave him a little notepad and he signed it, giving it back to her.
"Thank you so much." She brushed a stray hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry if this question's personal, but I don't see a ring on your finger. Are you a single parent then?"
He scrunched up his nose in thought. "Parent?" Aizawa sighed. This was going to take a while. Mic's eyes widened as he realized. "Oh, you mean him! No, no, I'm not a parent at all. I'm just watching him for the time being."
Before the lady could respond, Aizawa spoke plainly, "As exciting as it is to watch you two talk, if we don't get going in three seconds I'm going to start screaming and I will not stop."
"Well, it was nice meeting you Miss!" Mic waved to her as they went over to the register. Once they left, he let out a sigh. "Why must you always be like this?"
Aizawa shrugged unapologetically. "You know I hate people."
"I was hoping being younger would bring out the softie in you more." He picked him up with one arm and the new clothes with the other. "Are you just crabby because you need a nap?"
"I always need a nap."
He chuckled. "Alright, well I'll bring you home and you can change into these clean clothes. Then you can get some sleep."
"I can't wait that long," he decided as squished himself against his chest. "I'm going to sleep now."
"Fine. Jeez, you're so needy," Mic joked. The truth was Aizawa wanted all of Mic's attention on him. He usually hated any sort of attention, so he couldn't explain this. Oh well. He could think about that after he got some rest.
|
The next few days pass in a similar fashion. Each morning, Angela wakes up in Fareeha’s arms, simply content to no longer be in pain. Fareeha sneezes, sometimes purely in jest, at the wings that curl around them both and get feathers in her face. They get dressed and meet Satya for breakfast, then all head to the med bay together. After those first days, Fareeha returns to duty, running short day missions in the surrounding regions, so Satya and Angela take the walk to the med bay by themselves.
Satya is very firm on looking but not touching. She never touches the pearly wings without due warning and scientific cause and then only briefly. Angela finds this slightly irritating but never mentions it. Perhaps it would be inappropriate, too intimate but she doesn’t have the nerve to ask Fareeha yet. She wonders what sort of social rules she can set for her wings; it’s not as if there’s a precedent for wing manners after all.
It pains her not to ask everyday, because she knows Satya will tell her the minute she’s ready: Can I fly yet? She dreams of flying, not hovering or gliding to teammates under the Valkyrie’s power, but actually flying. She goes to bed in Fareeha’s arms, wings folded behind her while she snuggles into her lover’s chest. Frequently Angela wakes up with her wings tangled in the sheets behind her, splayed open on the bed, getting bigger and bigger each day. She almost tells Fareeha but of course, she knows what it’s like to be up in the air, to have control over one’s own flight. But she feels silly, just wishing to be in the air, watching the songbirds flit outside all the windows, the gulls winging on the updrafts, pelicans skimming over the waves
Angela can’t stop thinking about it. Every draft that flows through her feathers, every glance out of the window, every unconscious flutter of her wings reminds her.
In order to update her projections, Satya takes her measurements each day and does her calculations. Every day, Angela stands with her wings outstretched, arms hugging her torso as she tries not bounce on her heels as she waits for the architect's verdict.
“Not yet.” The answer every time. She spends the rest of day sneaking food from the kitchen and doing research into what may have caused the wings in the first place, staring forlornly out her office window at the blue June sky. Ana checks in, brings her bean soups, tofu dishes, and other meals that she pretends to nibble at until she leaves. Angela can never stay in her office for long, and instead uses the empty bowls as an excuse to leave for the day, head to the kitchen, and then find something else to do.
Sometimes she ventures into her closet and modifies her clothing to fit her again, stitching the ragged edges of new back windows and adding buttons with an even hand. Angela and Ana spend the better part of four days surrounded by Angela’s wardrobe in the common room, watching old movies and fixing clothes.
But mostly, Angela wanders the Watchpoint, restless and frustrated, staring out the windows at the sky she longs for. On the fifth morning, while Fareeha’s on mission, the medic asks her self-appointed caretaker about it. Satya runs more tests and together they examine the coding of the nanites that continue to diligently build her wings from scratch. It takes the rest of the morning to be sure, but they find nothing, no coding, no hormone imbalances, nothing that could make her want the sky so badly.
“Perhaps it is psychosomatic?” Satya suggests gently, straightening gracefully from where she was bent over at the electron microscope. The blonde immediately begins to worry her lip. “There is nothing wrong, Angela. You will fly soon. I believe it’s simply your expectation and some impatience.”
A peal of laughter spills from her lips at Angela’s answering pout. She can’t even say anything to that. She smiles and thanks her before returning to wander the watchpoint for the remainder of the day. Of course she’s antsy. Who wouldn’t be, with wings that no one has ever had before?
Four nights later, Fareeha returns to her room after a late mission, only to find Angela curled up on the outside edge of the bed. She slips in under the covers and snuggles up to her, spooning her for the first time in days. She snakes an arm under a wing and pulls the smaller woman closer to her. She cuddles up to the wings, turning her face to avoid the feathers and sighs. Fareeha can’t help but notice the little changes that surround the most obvious one.
Over the past few days, Fareeha has watched Angela pretend that she’s not paying attention to the wings steadily growing on her back. She observes the easy way her girlfriend grows with them as they develop into flight-worthy limbs, capable of nearly knocking Fareeha over. They are huge, silver and pearl in color, and strong, but Angela never seems to mind. She claims they’re not heavy; Fareeha has picked her up more than once to check, but Angela is a light as ever. When she concentrates, she can compress her wings into sleek blades of feathers, hidden behind her save for the tops peeking over her head. When she’s just relaxed they sort of splay out gently and no matter what, the longest of her flight feathers have begun to drag on the tiles of the Watchpoint. She’s started putting up her hair higher because her usual style hangs just low enough to endlessly startle her when it swings. Most importantly, Angela’s become quite cuddly and, Fareeha notes as she snuggles around the wings for the first time and waits for sleep to take her, her wings are incredibly soft.
The sun shines brightly as it rises over the Mediterranean and shines into the soldier’s bedroom. It warms Angela first, waking her slowly. She opens her eyes, squinting at the sunlight and trying to comprehend the warmth in her chest. She realizes that Fareeha is a warm comforting presence at her back and that is first time she has woken up happy in days. Not just calm or understanding of her situation, but happy. She sighs in bliss, and wriggles back toward Fareeha’s chest. There’s a sleepy cough behind her and a sneeze. She pauses, waiting for her lover to wake up properly.
“Good morning, liebe. How’d the mission go?”
Fareeha nuzzles her hair sleepily. “Went fine. Missed you terribly.” She hums against the shell of Angela’s ear. “I couldn’t really sleep anywhere else if I wanted to cuddle with you; you were all the way on the edge. But I didn’t pin you, did I?”
“No, no,” the Swiss responds quickly, bringing up a hand to keep Fareeha from relaxing her embrace. “No pain or pins and needles or anything. I feel quite relaxed actually.”
She trails off but Fareeha hears the implicated question anyways: what did you do?
“Really? Have you missed being the little spoon? ”
Angela barely hears her, shifting her wings and trying to understand the calmness. “Yes...and no...I just...I’m feeling so…”
The Egyptian woman laughs into her ear. “Are you alright, Ange?”
“What are doing right now? Are you touching them?”
Fareeha sobers instantly, taking stock of their position. “My left arm’s folded next to your left wing? I can move if you need me to, seriously.”
“Don’t!” Angela says sharply. Fareeha freezes from where she’s preparing to roll away and sit up. “It’s fine. I’m fine. It’s nice. No one really touches them.” She deflates at the thought.
“I was waiting until you were ready. With how this all started, I wasn’t sure-”
“Can you pet them?” It comes out as a slightly desperate and embarrassed squeak and Fareeha has to hold back her laugh at that. She stretches her fingers out and buries them in the feathers, lightly scratching while Angela melts . Tension continues to seep from her as she adds her other hand in her other wing, softly stroking along the grain of the feathers.
“You’ve gone awfully quiet.”
She’s been thinking a mile a minute about this new development so it takes a second for the smaller woman to answer but when she does, it’s after a blissful sigh. “I needed this. This is so much better than you petting my hair.”
Eventually, even Angela has to concede that they need to get up for the day. Fareeha pulls back to allow Angela to roll to her front and right out of the bed. She stumbles a little before straightening up and reaching up while her wings stretch outward carefully. The sun shines behind her, glowing through her outstretched feathers as she shakes them out.
“Angela…”
She stops rubbing the sleep from her eyes to regard her girlfriend on the bed, staring open-mouthed at her. Tilting her head, she pulls her wings in and giggles.
“Are you alright? ”
Shutting her mouth, Fareeha stretches out her hand for Angela to take, rubbing her thumb idly over her knuckles when she does so. She takes in the sight of her girlfriend who is at once dwarfed by her wings and commanding them with grace and power.
“You really do look like an angel. ”
The resulting blush on Angela’s face lasts all the way until breakfast. In the kitchen, Satya greets them amiably, having already prepared her own food. Fareeha grabs cereal and takes a seat; Angela, inclined to a bigger breakfast, skips between the fridge and the stove humming while the other women watch in amusement.
Fareeha turns to Satya, makes a butterfly motion with her hands, then points to Angela. The architect regards the winged woman at the stove for several long moments, noting the way her wings flit at will, their shape, their size, their fullness. After consulting her tablet, she turns to Fareeha and nods once.
Grinning, she takes out her phone and begins texting her mother, a fact that Satya confirms once Ana pokes her head in briefly, snaps a picture of Angela dancing at the stove, and sneaks off down the hallway.
Bemused, Satya expects to find her in the med bay, but when they finish breakfast and head over, she’s not there. She shoots a glance at Fareeha who’s still texting, only pausing to smile at Angela as she wriggles out of her top and stretches her wings expectantly.
“Angela, you are certainly eager this morning. What changed?” She keeps her tone light, pleased that the young doctor doesn’t seem bothered that she’s finally pointed it out. Angela only blushes a little bit and stops bouncing on her heels before answering quietly.
“There’s a theory….well not so much a theory anymore; it’s been long proven that humans are tactile creatures. Touch is important for infants, right? Skin hunger is a serious issue with underloved children. I suppose I needed something similar. Perhaps I’ve been feeling off because of that…”
Satya’s brow furrows in confusion. It’s not often that Angela is flustered enough to scramble her meanings.
“She needed a hug.” Fareeha translates helpfully, grinning at Angela when she pouts in her direction.
“It’s more complicated than that!”
Fareeha only watches Angela puff up with embarrassment, before adding: “Care to explain that better?” From her position at the counter, Satya abandons her search for her measuring tape and watches with interest as Angela effortlessly bristles, her wings held tense, slightly flared out. The Egyptian only giggles and returns to her texting.
Satya rolls her eyes, thinking. “Perhaps a daily regimen of hugging should be recommended along with your new dietary needs.”
Having displayed in jest, the blonde relaxes her wings and turns back to her with a sheepish smile. “Maybe? I don’t feel quite as restless anymore. But yes, Fareeha pet me and it was wonderful.”
That startles a chuckle out of Satya; she quickly brings a hand up to cover her smile. “My apologies. I do not mean to tease. When this all began, I believe it was Fareeha who was offended at the idea of Hana doing the same.” While Angela considers this, she motions for her to turn around and outstretch her wings. She obliges, carefully fanning her wings out once more.
“I suppose it’s different,” she says, holding one end of the tape measurer over her shoulder while Satya stretches it out to the tips of her wings. “It has a purpose. It could certainly come with a warning though. I don’t know if I want just anyone petting them.”
Satya pauses ever so slightly, trying to focus on the numbers on the tape measurer. She records the length in her charts and begins a feather-by-feather examination, unsure how to respond, if at all. The room is very quiet for a long minute.
“Satya?”
“Yes, Angela?”
“You can pet them, you know.”
“That will not be necessary. I imagine it’s an intimate process-”
“You’re not just anyone, sakhif .” Only Fareeha doesn’t startle at the sound of Ana’s voice. The sniper leans inside the slightly ajar door, holding it open with her foot as she leans on the doorjamb. “Just pet them before she starts whining.”
Having already received Angela’s approval, Satya tucks her stylus behind her ear and runs her hand along the top edge of the left wing, from shoulder to wingtip, walking in short strides to reach one end from the other. She marvels at the softness of the feathers under her palm, the tense and powerful muscles just under the surface, the stiffness of the primaries as she reaches the tip.
Angela, on the other hand, melts again. Satya only pets twice, then returns to her work while the mother-daughter pair chats quietly near the door. The architect begins to measure the other wing and examine the feathers before realizing that Angela hasn’t spoken a word.
“Are you alright?”
“Quite.” By the time she’s considered how to expand on that, Satya’s measuring her complete wingspan. She stretches her wings out all the way, marveling at how much space they take up, stretching over half the med bay’s length. When she’s done, she pulls her wings in and watches nervously as the Indian woman hums at her tablet and projections. The Amaris stop chatting and await the verdict. Finally, Satya presents two small projections of Angela, nearly identical, save for the date. One is dated for three days before, the original projection, and the other has the current date. She smiles.
“A little later than expected, but your wingspan is 372 centimeters. In other words, Angela, you’re ready to fly.”
Angela does nothing to hide the joy on her face. She holds her arms out for a hug and Satya barely nods before she flings herself at the startled woman before her and sweeps her up in a tight hug, spinning her around once before setting her down again. Angela runs over to Fareeha to do the same, but ends up being spun around instead, giggling all the while.
“Finally!” Ana huffs before turning on heel and leaving the med bay once more. Fareeha waits for Angela to get dressed and Satya to gather her tablet before leading them to the south gym, the biggest training space that the Watchpoint has available. Built directly into the cliff side, the windows stream sunlight into the space as they enter. Under their feet is a thick firm foam, which only dents when Angela jumps onto it, and then only just barely. Fareeha makes a beeline for her mother. Satya remains at Angela’s side, taking in the vaulted ceiling and the high windows before asking Athena to open the windows.
The room immediately fills with a warm sea breeze from the Mediterranean. Athena turns off the air-conditioning and lets the room warm naturally. The air currents ruffle Angela’s feathers as she shifts from foot to foot. The space between the mats and the rafters looms above her.
“It would be best if you stretched first. This will be a new exercise for your wings; you could hurt yourself.”
Angela doesn’t point out that she is a doctor because after all, she got herself into this situation by being her own doctor, not that she would admit it to anyone in the room. She nods and takes several steps away from Satya and stretches, taking pointers when suggested.
Before long, Fareeha pads over to check on them, her bare feet making very little sound on the mats.
“Are you alright? Do you need anything?”
“Yes." She fidgets, switching legs to stretch. "Well, I’ve been thinking about this. There's so much that goes into this. I can hardly take off like a bird."
Fareeha nods, thinking. "And a vertical take-off would take too much energy. It's a curious situation, to say the least. Perhaps Satya has an idea.”
“If you have no inclination toward a certain method, I would start with the most logical choice.” Sayta shrugs lightly, consulting her tablet.
Aware of the reality of the situation she's facing, Angela gulps. “Perhaps being slightly elevated would help?”
“Why don’t you hop out of the rafters?” Ana calls out; she’s still on the side of the room, fiddling with the sound control panel. “It seems like being in the air would be the best idea.” Fareeha balks at her mother’s suggestion, frowning in her direction, but Angela beats her to the complaint first.
“Perhaps later, Ana. I’m not keen on breaking every bone in my body. I think a folded mat will be high enough.” The four women spend ten minutes dragging more gymnastic mats out of storage and making a runway of sorts. Angela stares at the path for a long minute before cautiously climbing on.
“I can catch you if you fall,” says Fareeha, reaching up and grasping Angela’s hand.
“Better not to. The impact could hurt us both.” They grimace at the thought, threading their fingers together and squeezing tighter.
Ana calls out from the side of the room, opening the control panel for the training room sound system. “If you two lovebirds are done, we made a playlist.”
“Ana. This will be hard enough without distractions. Music is perhaps not the best idea-?” She sees the look Fareeha gives her mother. Over the years she has known them, Angela has learned not to trust any knowing glances that the Amaris shoot each other. She waits for an explanation but it does not come from them; it comes from the speakers.
You're beautiful and that's for sure
You'll never ever fade
You're lovely, but it's not for sure
And I won't ever change
“Let it inspire you to fly." Ana waves a hand dismissively. "Worry not, Angela. Focus on flying.”
Ignoring Ana, Angela squints at the speakers above, trying to understand the joke.
And though my love is rare
And though my love is true
I'm like a bird
I'll only fly away-
It’s times like these that Angela remembers just how old Ana is. Ana laughs at her as she begins to sputter; Fareeha barely contains her snickers.
“Is the whole playlist-?” Angela can appreciate the joke now, but she grimaces at the idea of listening to one ancient song over and over.
“Different songs, same themes. Relax. Like you said, this will be hard enough. You just need to breathe.”
Angela takes a deep breath and fluffs out her wings one last time. Breathe.
It turns out that they are correct. Flying is hard. Angela ignores the cheesy turn-of-the-millennium song and dashes off down the makeshift runway. She skids to a stop at the end and hops off, blushing furiously. No one teases her for it; they only help her back up onto the mats to try again. It takes a couple of tries before she gets airborne. The fourth try, she hovers for a second until she sinks to back to the floor. By the time she actually gets into the air for an appreciable amount of time, everyone, except for Satya who is recording meticulously, has lost count of attempts. This time, Angela takes off down the runway, flaps four times before jumping off the edge of the mats, and sweeps her wings into a powerful downstroke that propels her upward. That much is fairly simple. Once she’s properly in the air, she panics, throwing her arms out for balance as she hovers.
Before anyone can begin to encourage her, Angela makes an aborted attempt to fly toward the other side of the room, flails terribly, then crashes face first into the foam pad below. Her wings splay out behind her, limp with exhaustion and mussed from repeated falls.
With a sympathetic ‘humph’, Satya crosses the room and crouches next to Angela; Fareeha follows close behind. Ana watches carefully and remains on the edges of the room since Angela makes no move to suggest she is terribly injured. They wait with bated breath as she drags herself out of the dent she’s created and sits up. Fareeha rubs small circles onto her thigh and kisses her on the cheek. The blonde rubs at her nose and frowns, watching the other woman make notes on her tablet. They both look to Satya for direction.
“There is much practice to be done, Angela.”
Angela glances up at the windows above her. The Gibraltar sun shines strongly and a gull passes through its rays, casting the bird’s shadow on the floor. Its cry carries through the open window, wild and unrestrained.
“Of course. Let’s try again, shall we?”
|
Lena takes a seat in the back of the classroom, as usual. She always sits in the back with her friends and she hardly pays attention to class, though her grades never drop. There have been numerous times where she would help Maggie and Leslie with their homework.
“Nerd alert,” Leslie says to her friends when the new girl takes a seat at the front row.
“At least she listened to what I said,” Lena replies, pointing out what matters. The redhead seems to know that sitting close to them would not be a good idea.
“Her hair is nice,” Maggie mumbles. She shrugs when Leslie stares at her.
“You’re so gay,” Leslie whispers to Maggie with a teasing smirk.
“Preach for your own choir,” Maggie replies, winking at Leslie.
Lena smiles while Leslie shuts up. Aside from being rebels, they have in common that they’re gay. She’d have been fine with it if her friends wouldn’t have been gay, but it’s cool that they are.
Miss Smith walks in and places her book on her desk. “Good morning, students,” she says loudly.
“Morning, Miss Smith,” some students reply.
“Ugh, not Miss Smith,” Leslie mutters to her friends.
“I’m going to fall asleep,” Lena says to her friends. She yawns aloud and taps her hand against her mouth.
“Does my class bore you, Lena Luthor?” Miss Smith asks with her hands placed on her sides.
“Well, considering you ask…,” Lena answers naughtily. “It does,” she says bluntly.
Leslie bursts out laughing at Lena’s comment. She loves it when her friend is being blunt.
“The principal’s office,” Miss Smith says angrily. “Right now, Lena Luthor,” she says sternly.
Lena throws her backpack over one shoulder and exits the classroom while some students holler after her. Getting kicked out in less than a minute of her class starting is a new record. Last year she often got kicked out about half an hour into a class, though she was often at least fifteen minutes late, so there’s that.
Alex stares in shock and she can’t believe that her sweet innocent sister actually approached a Luthor when they had arrived at school. Once lunch comes around, she’ll inform Kara about who Lena is. That Luthor girl has trouble written all over her.
Lena is slumping down the hall rather than immediately going to the principal’s office. She turns around the corner of some lockers when a familiar sunshine bumps into her.
Kara’s eyes are moving around frantically and she’s nervous because she’s late for class, but she doesn’t know where her classroom is and now she ran into Lena. “I’m sorry!” she blurts out.
“Lost already?” Lena asks, staring amusingly at the new girl.
“I always seem to be,” Kara answers quietly, saddened as she looks at the floor. It’s tough to be new to so many things. “I’m just um… going to go find my class.”
Lena sighs deeply and grasps Kara’s backpack.
“Hey,” Kara says, frowning at Lena who is unzipping her backpack. “Wh-what… why?”
Lena finds Kara’s schedule and looks at it. “Your class is the third door on the right, around the corner,” she says, tucking it back in the girl’s backpack. “Tell Mister Oak you’re new and he’ll let you being late in his class slide.”
“Thank you,” Kara replies, grateful for Lena’s help. “You’re really nice.”
“As if,” Lena mutters lowly. She walks past Kara, bumping against the girl’s shoulder. “This doesn’t mean I’m going to be your friend or whatever,” she calls over her shoulder. “You’re just a girl and you look like you walked out of a skittles commercial or something,” she says, not wanting Kara to get the impression that she would be all sweet or whatever when she’s not.
“Skittles commercial?” Kara answers, feeling confused. “The thing about candy?” she asks, having no clue what Lena means.
Lena smiles devilishly and turns around for a second. “Taste the rainbow,” she answers teasingly. “You should run along to your class.”
Kara is still confused, but asking what Lena means only seems to lead to more confusion, so it’s not worth the effort to ask. “Why aren’t you in class?” she asks, not to be rude, simply wondering.
“I got kicked out,” Lena answers while she holds her right hand up in a rock and roll symbol. “Stay out of trouble, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Kara replies, appalled. “I am sixteen.”
“Whatever you say, flower power,” Lena says indifferently, waving the new girl off.
Kara can’t quite read Lena, doesn’t understand why the raven haired girl behaves in such a strange way. It’s not that she thinks Lena is weird, of course not, she just doesn’t understand her. One moment the raven haired girl clad in all black seems to be kind and the next Lena is brushing her off. Earlier this morning when she had introduced herself and the raven haired girl had said her name and the names of the other girls, Lena seemed to be kind, but then she changed.
Lena rubs her shoulder on her way to the principal’s office. It was a bad idea to bump into Kara’s shoulder who didn’t seem to budge at all. Maybe she just slept funny, that must be why her shoulder is hurting a little bit.
Kara walks into the school cafeteria, taking deep breaths while she tries to drown out the noise. Students are always so loud and there are more students here than there were back in Midvale. She grabs a tray and accidentally bumps into someone.
“I’m so sorry,” Kara apologizes with wide eyes. “I didn’t mean to.”
“No biggie. I’m Lucy Lane by the way,” Lucy replies with a friendly smile. “You’re Kara, right? The new girl?”
“Yes, that’s me,” Kara confirms. “I think I saw you in class,” she says, not entirely sure.
“Yup, I’m a junior,” Lucy says proudly. “Rough first day?” she asks, frowning at the sad look on Kara’s face.
Kara chews on her bottom lip while she contemplates asking Lucy if she wants to be friends, but she doesn’t want to be a bother and repeat what happened earlier today with Lena, Leslie, Maggie and Veronica. She shakes her head and moves to walk away to seek a table. Her sister will probably be in the cafeteria soon and perhaps she can eat lunch with Alex, unless her sister already made friends.
“Hey, wait,” Lucy says, putting a hand on Kara’s shoulder. “Do you want to sit at my table?”
Kara turns around, surprised to hear Lucy asking her that. “Yes, I’d love to,” she answers, smiling when Lucy smiles at her. “Do you maybe…if it’s no bother, want to be my friend?” she asks shyly.
“Only if you call me Luce,” Lucy answers while she nods towards her usual table. “My friends always call me Luce,” she explains.
“Hey, Alex!” Kara shouts when she spots her sister entering the cafeteria. “I made a friend!”
Alex face-palms when laughter sounds through the cafeteria and she wishes her sister wouldn’t have shouted like that.
Kara’s face flushes when she realizes that was probably stupid to do. “I’m so sorry,” she apologizes to Lucy. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she says, wishing she would have kept her mouth shut. She finally made her first friend and now she’s messing it up.
Lucy grins and cups her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Alex, come sit at our table!” she shouts, unable to care less about what others would think.
Leslie rolls her eyes from where she’s sitting with her friends. “Can those losers just not?” she mutters, annoyed.
Lena stares curiously at Kara and Lucy, finding it a bold move to shout for the whole cafeteria to hear, careless about what others think. It’s an attitude she appreciates. It intrigues her, even.
“Alex,” Maggie whispers, testing the name on her tongue. She smiles, deciding that name suits the redhead.
“You’re staring,” Lena whispers in Maggie’s ear.
“Pft,” Maggie replies in denial. “I was observing and I saw you looking as well.”
Alex joins the table where her sister is taking a seat and she’s happy for Kara that she seemed to have made a friend.
“I’m Lucy,” Lucy says to Alex. “You can call me Luce though. It’s what my friends do.”
“Okay,” Alex replies, nodding slowly. “I’m Kara’s older sister.”
“Cool,” Lucy says, smiling at Alex. “This is Winn by the way,” she says, introducing her friend.
“Hi,” Winn says shyly.
“You can be my second friend,” Kara says to Winn with a big smile.
“M-me?” Winn asks nervously. “Um, sure, yeah t-that would be great.”
“Kara, I have to tell you something,” Alex says, sighing deeply. “Lena’s last name is Luthor.”
Kara’s eyes widen in surprise because she had no idea. It’s strange that the first girl she noticed around here happens to be Lena Luthor. “Okay,” she whispers, aware what that means. “But…,” she adds, pausing for a moment. “Lena is a Luthor, but that doesn’t mean she’s her brother.”
“You might want to stay away from Lena and her gang,” Lucy warns Kara and Alex. “They’re bad news, especially if you get in their way.”
“This dummy asked if they wanted to be her friends,” Alex says, nodding her head at her sister.
“Hey,” Kara objects. “I’m not a dummy.”
“Awe,” Lucy says while patting Kara’s back. “You’re so innocent, that’s cute.”
“Oh my god,” Winn says, gasping. “You asked Lena to be friends?” he asks Kara. “What happened? Did she hex you?”
“Hex me?” Kara asks, confused. “Are you saying Lena is a witch?”
“You never know,” Winn answers whilst shrugging. “She’s scary.”
Lucy’s eyebrows shoot up at the amount of food Kara is eating. “There’s a party coming up this weekend,” she says to her friends. “Anyone who wants to go is invited.”
“Hmm a party,” Alex says, thinking about it. “With alcohol and such?” she asks, happy each time she can get her hands on some.
“Yup,” Lucy answers, keeping her voice low. “We should all go. Parties that are thrown are always cool.”
“But people under twenty-one can’t drink,” Kara points out, worried. She’s been told that it is illegal to drink alcohol when someone isn’t twenty-one and she knows her sister drinks sometimes, which concerns her.
“We do anyway,” Lucy replies indifferently. “So, you two down?” she asks curiously.
“Definitely,” Alex answers, planning to go for the alcohol and maybe the music will be decent.
“I guess,” Kara answers hesitantly. She would have said no, but if Alex is going then she should be there as well, to make sure her sister doesn’t get drunk.
“You can’t tell mom,” Alex says to her sister, knowing her mother wouldn’t like it.
“They’re staring at us,” Winn whispers, bouncing his leg up and down while his eyes shift nervously towards where Lena is sitting with her friends.
“Those bitches should mind their own business,” Alex snaps.
“Whoa, someone is pissed,” Lucy notes. “Overall they’re not that bad as long as you leave them alone. Maggie is the softest one of them. I kind of uh… dated her for like a month last year.”
“Oh,” Alex says, surprised. “So you’re uh… you know? Never mind, I shouldn’t ask.”
“I’m bisexual,” Lucy suffices. “Why so curious?” she asks gleefully. “Are you interested?”
“No,” Alex scoffs. “I mean, I’m sure you’re nice and all, but no.”
“None taken,” Lucy replies, not feeling offended. “Lena’s gang is so gay.”
Lena nods while Leslie talks about some upcoming party. It could be lame because it’s a high school party rather than a college one, but at least they’ll have free drinks and she’s always down for that.
“Little Lane is glancing at us again,” Veronica says, sighing as she rests her chin in her hand.
“It’s weird that you used to date her,” Leslie says to Maggie.
“You can hardly call it that,” Maggie replies, because it barely lasted three weeks. “It was more of a physical thing.”
“My favorite kind,” Lena whispers with a dubious grin. “She seemed sweet towards you,” she recalls.
“See anyone you like?” Maggie asks Lena, to divert the topic from her.
“I’m not interested in relationships and all that jazz,” Lena answers, preferring to stay single. “Relationships are messy.”
“Ditto that,” Leslie says, agreeing.
“I hope that party has some drinks that will take the edge off,” Lena says, sighing as she runs a hand through her hair, smoothing it over one shoulder. “Kara’s cheeks must hurt from smiling so much,” she comments and as if on cue, the new girl suddenly looks at her. “She's kind of pretty,” she mumbles quietly to herself while grabbing her bottle of water.
Kara ducks her head and she might be blushing a bit. She shouldn’t listen in, but when Lena said her name she couldn’t help herself.
|
Kurt survived Saturday plus Monday through Wednesday of 3-hour Cheerios practices each morning. Dave spent his time in the weight room and watching Kurt practice. Afterwards, Kurt worked 7-hour shifts at the shop. Dave went home and played video games and watched cooking videos, secretly working on improving his cooking skills. Kurt worked the extra hours in the shop to help cover the hours for the guys who had asked off for the holidays.
Puck did what he was told to do and stayed out of Kurt’s hair when they had shifts that overlapped. He also went in early to do more bodywork on his truck. Kurt was surprised to see him so focused, but he was glad he didn’t have to continually check on him. Puck had gained a semblance of self-worth by paying his bills without breaking the law and was slowly paying Paul back for the initial parts Burt had installed to get his truck running smoothly. The phone counseling was helping him quite a bit with working through a lot of his anger issues. He read through the information he had picked up at LCC when Paul had taken the four of them for a tour and did more research on the fields that seemed interesting.
Christmas Eve was the first real day of winter break for Kurt. He had four days off in a row before the Cheerios practices and his long workdays at the shop began again.
That morning, Kurt woke up in his bed with Dave’s arms wrapped around him. He scooted back even closer.
Dave held him a little tighter and kissed him on the back of the neck. “Snuggling you is even better than I had ever imagined.”
“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing that I like being snuggled more than I ever thought I would.”
“We can snuggle as long as you like before we get up.”
Kurt took a deep breath and relaxed. Dave ran his hand along Kurt’s right arm and continued to kiss him on the back of the neck. Kurt shivered.
“Do you want me to get another blanket?”
“No. The kisses just gave me the chills. But don’t stop.”
Dave laughed. Kurt's words emboldened him. He moved his hand up Kurt’s arm to his shoulder. He slipped Kurt’s baggy thermal shirt off his shoulder a little and kissed along the top of his shoulder and then back towards his neck and up to his ear. “God, you’re gorgeous.” He went right back to kissing along Kurt’s neck.
Kurt shivered again.
“You okay?”
“Mm-hmm. That feels amazing.”
“Good. I want you to feel amazing.”
Kurt wiggled a bit and slipped his arm into his shirt and in a flash, he pulled it over his head and then slipped it off his other arm, left it on the pillow above his head, and lay right back down the way he had been.
Dave was shocked.
“You stopped? Is it too much? Do you want me to put my shirt back on?”
Dave leaned forward enough to start kissing Kurt’s neck again. He didn’t know what to do with his hand.
“You can touch me. You can put your hand back on my arm or wherever.”
Dave put his hand back on Kurt’s shoulder, then ran his hand down Kurt’s arm gently, leaving his hand over the top of Kurt’s. “You’re beautiful.”
“You’ve seen me shirtless lots of times in the locker room after games.”
“Yeah, but I was always on edge then. The guys were being reasonably decent, and I didn’t want to upset the balance of them ignoring our relationship. I did my best to keep from gawking at you.”
“If this makes you uncomfortable, I can put my shirt back on—”
“Definitely not.” Dave was far too thrilled with the increase in Kurt’s comfort level to say anything else.
Kurt laughed.
Dave went back to kissing Kurt’s shoulder and neck. Kurt moved his hand and put it over the top of Dave’s and raised his elbow. He pulled Dave’s arm under his, kissed Dave’s knuckles, then positioned their hands so they were against his chest. They lay like that for a few minutes, but eventually, the urge to kiss Dave became too strong and Kurt let go of Dave’s hand and turned in his arms to lie facing him instead. He gave him a quick peck and realized that a trip to the bathroom was next on the agenda, no matter how much it was interfering with his interest in kissing. He got up and relieved himself, brushed his teeth, and opened the bathroom door to find Dave standing there.
“My turn.”
“Hurry, then.” He gave him another quick kiss. “You’re my personal electric blanket. I might freeze.”
Dave rolled his eyes, but he did go quickly. He splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth, and opened the door to find Kurt still standing there. Dave looked at him.
“You have to get in first or I’ll have to get out again anyway. Come on.”
Dave lay back down, scooted over, and turned onto his left side. Kurt lay down next to him on his right side. And as soon as Dave had pulled the covers up over Kurt’s shoulders, Kurt launched right back into the kissing he had started. He slid his arm partially out from under the covers and ran his hands through Dave’s hair.
“I was right.”
“You usually are,” Dave teased. “About what in particular?”
“How sexy your hair is when it grows out a bit.”
“Oh. I usually just kept it really short because of needing to shower so frequently.”
“I figured. It’s not really that long now, but I can run my fingers through it.”
“Which feels fantastic, by the way.”
“I figured that out by the moaning,” Kurt teased back.
Dave pushed forward and kissed Kurt again. “We’ve been talking about Christmas traditions. I want to add this to mine.”
“Laying in bed kissing?”
“Yep.”
“We do that fairly frequently.”
“But I want to make sure we make time for it. My mother would go nuts around holidays, cooking and trying to make everything perfect. Relatives would come, and we’d just be crazy busy. Or we’d drive to my grandparents and it would be the same thing there. People were on edge, trying to make everything fit some schedule or plan. I’m not into the religious aspect of the holiday, but I’d like to celebrate the holidays like this—spending time with the people I love and care about without all that stress and craziness of spending hundreds of dollars on gifts just because it’s a holiday. I’d like it to just be simple and fun.”
“I guess I never really thought about it that much. I did hear other kids talk about going to relatives’ houses and stuff, and I was jealous, of course, because we never did that kind of thing. But I never thought about doing it every year. It would be like what we did here at Thanksgiving.”
“Pretty much.”
“I like your idea. Maybe one holiday a year could be like that, but not all of them. As much as I like being around people and performing, I think I’m an introvert. I know that seems crazy.”
“No, it actually doesn’t. I know I am.” He kissed Kurt again. “I just really like this.”
“Me too. I have another idea.”
“What?”
“Since neither of us has any religious attachments to this particular holiday, why don’t we wait and exchange gifts on New Year's Day? And we just spend these two days enjoying our free time? Except that well, except that I want to give you what I got you, well part of it right now.”
“Okay. I’m fine with you giving me part of mine now. I’ll do the same.”
Kurt pulled his shirt under the covers. Dave raised an eyebrow.
“I want to warm it up before I put it on. I have to get your present, and it’s cold.” He sat up and put the shirt on and retrieved a gift bag from his closet.
Dave had gotten out of bed right after him and was already sitting back on the bed waiting for him. He handed him a thin cardboard gift box. “You go first.”
Kurt took the box and opened the end. He tipped it and two DVDs slid out. “These are perfect. I loved the first Night at the Museum movie. I haven’t seen this one yet. I did go see Half-Blood Prince at the theater. I bribed my dad with breakfast at Cracker Barrel in order to get him to take me.”
Dave laughed.
“What? I couldn’t drive yet and I really wanted to go. I had only seen the others on DVD. I waited until it had been in the theater for a while and then I had him take me to the earliest show on a Sunday in Findlay. That way I was practically guaranteed to avoid any of the jocks that hassled me. He dropped me off, then went and pigged out at Cracker Barrel and then to some flea market for a while until he could pick me back up.”
Dave kissed the top of his head. “I never even thought about how all of that affected you so much. I never thought about what any of them did outside of school. I mostly hung out with them at lunch at school, practices, games, and parties. If there were no parties on a weekend, sometimes Azimio came over to watch movies and eat pizza and stuff on Fridays or Saturdays, but over the summer, I didn’t really see the others much. I couldn’t drive yet and the upperclassmen weren’t really all that keen on playing chauffeur for us that often. They’d rather just hang out with their own friends.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I struggle with the letter jacket. I don’t want to be associated with those jerks and how they behaved. I told my dad that none of the stores in the Lima Mall had what I wanted, but really most places within an hour or so have pretty much the same stores. He just never paid attention because he doesn’t like shopping. He’d just sit out in the mall area while I went in stores, then just move down to the next benches or just wait for me in the food court. But with the worst offenders gone now, and the other major offender reforming after joining Glee, it’s less embarrassing to be seen wearing a letter jacket. And seeing someone in one of them doesn’t just cause me to flinch anymore.” Kurt stopped talking for a couple of minutes and refocused. “I did NOT mean to get on this topic at all. The DVDs are great. Thank you. And we can watch them together sometime this weekend.” He sat the DVDs next to him on the bed. He reached to his other side and pushed the bag toward Dave. “This goes along with your idea, even though we hadn’t talked about it. What’s in here is really for both of us. Just open it and you’ll see.”
Dave reached in and felt several things wrapped in tissue paper. He pulled out the first one and unwrapped it. “The Maze Runner? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s new. Keep going.”
Dave unwrapped another one. “Leviathan?”
“Also a new release.”
“David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants.”
“Also a new release that looked interesting.”
“Witch and Wizard.”
“Seemed like it might be interesting. I got four different genres just for the variety. The ones at the bottom that aren’t wrapped are books I already had that I really like that you haven’t read. I thought you could lend me a few of your books that you really like that I haven’t read. It goes along with what you were thinking. Just spending time relaxing. I know it’s weird that it’s kind of a mutual gift, but I hope you like it.”
“I do. It’s actually a cool idea. And it does fit perfectly with my idea.” Dave picked up Leviathan. “Pick one.”
Kurt chose The Maze Runner. Dave put the other books back in the bag and handed it to Kurt. He put the bag on the floor next to the futon. He put the DVDs on top of the books.
“We need some kind of bolster. Or an ottoman.”
“Interesting idea. Maybe I could build an ottoman.”
Kurt readjusted the way he was sitting from criss-cross to kneeling on the bed. He put his hands on Dave’s shoulders and pushed him so he flopped onto his back. Kurt moved his hands so they were above Dave’s shoulders, next to his face. He leaned down and kissed Dave, licking at his lower lip, and Dave quickly got over being startled and kissed back passionately.
When they broke apart for air, Dave said, “Damn, if I knew offering to build you furniture would get you that turned on, I’d have offered a long time ago.”
Kurt rolled his eyes and started kissing him again. He kissed up his neck. “I already really wanted to kiss you earlier, and then you said you wanted to spend holiday mornings kissing.”
Dave said, “I have the best ideas sometimes.”
“Mm-hmm.”
Two raps on the door to Kurt’s room sounded, followed by Burt opening the door and stepping onto the upper landing. Kurt pushed back up and sat down where he had been. Dave sat back up. They turned and pulled the covers back up over their legs.
“Morning, boys.”
Kurt and Dave responded simultaneously.
“Morning, Dad.”
“Morning, Burt.”
Burt stopped on the lower landing and sat down. “So, plans for today?”
“Um, reading. Kurt got me books.” He held up the book for Burt to see.
Kurt showed him the one he was planning to read. “I went to the bookstore and bought four new releases, and we’re going to read them over break.”
Burt laughed. “You two might just be the weirdest teenage boys I’ve ever met.”
“Da-ad!” Kurt harrumphed in a two-syllable tone of aggravation.
“What? It’s true.”
“That may be true. BUT … we haven’t knocked up any girls. We haven’t stolen anything, started any fights, or vandalized anything. We got our grade reports and we both got straight As.”
Burt just laughed more. “You’re right. Keep being weird. I like weird.”
“I thought so.”
“We’re going out to Cracker Barrel for brunch at 11:00. We’re taking the Nav so we can all fit.”
“We’re going out of town for brunch? I could just cook for everyone.”
“Nope. Be ready at 10:30.”
“Alright.”
“Dress casual.”
“To go out to brunch?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re the weird one. I hardly ever go out, and you want me to ‘dress casual’.”
“You got it. Be upstairs ready to go at 10:30.” Burt stood up and went back upstairs.
Once he heard the door at the top of the stairs close, Kurt said, “He’s up to something.”
“Why’s that?”
“He specifically doesn’t want me to dress up. So, we’re going to do something I will consider messy at some point.”
“Relax. I’m sure it’s something fun.”
“I don’t deal well with surprises, and he knows that.”
“So, it must be something that he’s certain that you’ll like. He wouldn’t plan something on a holiday that you would hate.” He handed the book he was holding to Kurt, who put both books back in the bag on the floor next to the futon. Dave scooted back down in the bed and extended his arm for Kurt to lay on his chest and snuggle up. “Come on. Snuggle with me.”
Kurt slid under the covers. “You’re probably right. I’ll try to relax.” Kurt scooted over to Dave and kissed him gently, then laid his head on Dave’s chest. “I can hear your heart beating.”
Dave wrapped his arm around Kurt and kissed the top of his head. They lay there in silence for a while.
“What time is it actually?” Dave asked.
Kurt turned over and picked his phone up off the sewing table that he could barely reach. “9:17.”
“So, we have a little while before we have to get ready.”
“Maybe 30 minutes because I have to figure out what on earth to wear out to brunch that’s casual, but looks fabulous.”
“Of course. And me?”
“You can wear the jeans and the flannel shirt you brought and look casual and sexy.”
“In flannel?”
“Yep.”
“Wear whatever you like because when you feel good in what you're wearing, you're super sexy.”
“Is that so?” Kurt asked seductively. He scooted up enough that he could kiss Dave.
At 10:30, they were sitting in the backseat of the Navigator. Kurt slid to the center position so he could sit close to Dave. They drew designs and shapes on each other's hands on the 30-minute drive to the restaurant. Once they were here, they added their name to the queue.
All four of them looked around the store while they waited. Dave found a small set of metal puzzles that he thought would be good for the $5 Dirty Santa gift exchange the Glee Club was having on New Year’s Eve. He figured if no one ended up wanting the set, he would have fun with it himself.
After they finished eating, they all piled back into the Nav, and Burt set off to the unknown destination. Kurt was tense, but Dave held Kurt’s hand. Burt turned on a pop station that was playing Christmas hits all day. Dave and Kurt sang along to the radio.
“The mall? We’re going to the mall in Toledo and you told me to dress casual? This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Just go with it, kiddo.” We’re going to give the two of you an hour in here. We’ll be back at this entrance—Entrance C—in an hour.” Burt and Paul handed two $50 bills to each of them. “Get whatever you want for yourselves.”
Paul added, “You know I’m a terrible gift giver, Dave. Even if I pick something you’d like, I’d get the wrong size or something. Or I’d buy something you already have. So, go have fun. When we pick you up, we’re going somewhere else.”
They put the cash in their wallets, left their jackets behind, and made a beeline for the mall entrance door.
An hour later on the dot, Burt and Paul pulled up and Kurt and Dave hurried out and got in.
“What on earth is in those huge bags?” Burt asked.
“They’re for Dave’s bed so we can read easier.”
“So, they’re some kind of pillows?” Paul said.
“Yep. We’ll show you when we get home.”
“Alright, then.” Burt pulled off and headed to their final destination, which was just down the street.
“What’s Dave and Buster’s?” Kurt asked.
“You’ll see. Leave your coats again.”
Kurt and Dave took off jogging. They stepped inside and waited for Burt and Paul in the space between the two sets of doors.
“This looks like fun. It says 18 and up, though.”
“You can get in with a parent. Let’s go in,” Paul said.
After Burt and Paul paid, they all put their wristbands on.
“So, these get you all-you-can-eat wings and a drink. And you can play all of the games. We’ll be in the bar. Text one of us if you need something,” Burt said.
Dave and Kurt went to look through the huge arcade.
“Now I see why he said to dress casual. How about Pac-Man?”
“Sure.”
“Five minutes, then we’re going home,” Burt said as Kurt and Dave ran up the stairs to put the pillows in Dave’s room.
They put the bags down and Kurt wrapped his arms around Dave’s neck. He stepped as close as he could get and hugged Dave. “Have you noticed anything?”
Dave pulled back a bit to look at him. He had a dumbfounded look on his face. “What could you have changed while we were riding back from Toledo?”
“Look at my shoes.”
“You’re wearing Chucks.”
"Mm-hmm. And what am I not doing?”
“You’re not kissing me, and we’re running out of time,” Dave teased.
Kurt pressed forward and kissed him. “Better?”
“Much.”
“No more time for guessing. I’m not standing on my tip toes.”
“You grew.”
“I did. A lot of my pants are too short, but I’m not going to get new ones just yet. I’ll just wear the ones I have tucked in my boots for now because I might grow more, and I don’t want to waste money.”
“Good plan.” Dave kissed him. “If you get taller than me, that would be weird, but I guess I’d have time to get used to it because it wouldn’t happen overnight.”
“The doctor said that I’d probably be, like, 5’11" at some point, so not as tall as you.”
“Kurt!”
“Gotta run.” Kurt kissed him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The next day Dave arrived at the Hummels' before lunchtime. He rang the doorbell and waited for Kurt to answer the door.
“You’re adorable!” Kurt said. “The Santa hat is awesome.” He stepped back, letting Dave step in far enough to let the storm door close. Kurt kissed him gently before he helped him out of his coat and hung it in the closet. “What’s in the bag?”
“You’ll see.” He kissed Kurt quickly and headed into the kitchen. He put the bag down on the counter and began emptying it onto the counter. “I know your dad is grilling, but I also know that steak and baked potatoes is not your favorite meal. I don’t know if this will be either, but I hope you like it.” He put an insulated baking dish carrier on the counter along with a lot of small storage containers with lids.
“What is it?”
“You’ll see. Where’s your dad?”
“Upstairs getting ready.”
Dave backed Kurt up to the counter and wrapped his arms around him. Kurt wrapped his arms around Dave’s neck and kissed him. After a few minutes, Dave attempted to step back, but Kurt whimpered a tiny bit and kept his hold around Dave’s neck.
Dave smiled. “Come on, Fancy. We’ve got lunch to serve.”
Kurt pouted.
Dave laughed. “You think that’s going to work?”
Kurt shrugged just a tiny bit and stuck his lower lip out a little more.
Dave rolled his eyes and kissed him. “Come on. You know your dad will fuss at us for making out in the kitchen.”
Kurt kissed him one last time. “What’s in all these bowls?”
“All the salad toppings I chopped up.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I’ve been chopping and chopping and chopping.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything for you. You know that.”
Kurt blushed. He did know, but he did his best not to take advantage of it, other than in silly ways like getting more kisses.
Dave took one more thing out of the bottom of the sack. He sat it on the counter and unfolded it.
“Oh, the bowls fit in the wire rack. That’s really cool.” A square bowl about the size of a dinner plate sat in the center, and along the front edge and the sides, the eight smaller square bowls fit in the wire rack. “It might be easier to set it up in here and fix our salads on the way into the dining room.”
“That’s fine.”
They worked together and got the lids off and Kurt arranged the chopped vegetables in the stand. “This is really cool. It keeps everything together and lets people choose. Where did you get this?”
“I ordered it online.”
“Well, I like it.”
Dave smiled. “I made two types of salad dressing.”
“Wait. You made these? Oh, I guess I hadn’t noticed that the bottles didn’t have labels on them.”
“I re-used the bottles from the store-bought dressing.”
Kurt started to unzip the insulated casserole bag.
“Hey, no peeking.”
Kurt left it alone. “This is exciting!” Kurt bounced up onto his toes. He turned and bear-hugged Dave. “You went to a lot of trouble and you’ve been learning to cook. I can’t wait to taste it.”
“Taste what?” Burt asked.
“Whatever is in that casserole carrier that Dave won’t let me see.”
Burt laughed. He noticed the salad. “That’s a cool setup. Not that I like salad much, but it’s still cool.” Burt opened the fridge and grabbed the steaks and went through the dining room out to the deck to stick the steaks on the gas grill. He came back in quickly. “It’s warm for the time of year it is, but not that warm.” He tossed the steak package in the trash, went into the foyer, and grabbed a coat out of the closet, grabbing a plate and the tongs on his way back outside.
“He doesn’t seem fazed by us at all anymore. I didn’t even get ‘the look’ for you being all wrapped up in my arms.”
“He’s over it. He mostly only did it to embarrass us. He’s a big tease. Once we quit blushing and stammering, it took the fun out of teasing us.”
“Well, that was really good, if I do say so myself,” Burt said.
“I agree,” Kurt said. “Dave’s 7-layer Southwest-style casserole was fantastic. And I like both of those salad dressings.”
Dave blushed a bit and smiled. “Wait here. I’ll go get dessert.”
“You brought dessert?” Burt asked. “I figured we were having ice cream since I didn’t see Kurt making anything this morning.”
“So did I, but that’s because Dave told me not to make anything, so I figured that he was bringing ice cream.”
“Not ice cream, but I left it in my truck since it’s cold enough outside.” He hurried outside and came back in with a cake carrier. He sat it on the counter, opened it, grabbed a long thin knife, and carried the dessert and knife into the dining room.
Kurt looked up when he came in. “Oh, my God. You made that?”
“I did.”
“It’s a turtle cheesecake with a chocolate cookie crust?”
“It is.”
Kurt grabbed a dessert plate and slid it down next to the cheesecake. “May I please have a piece of that most gorgeous cheesecake?”
“Of course.” Dave sliced it into eight pieces and served everyone a slice.
Kurt took a bite and moaned. “If heaven’s real, this is served there for every meal.” He closed his eyes as he put the second bite into his mouth. He continued to carefully place each bite in his mouth and relish the flavor of every bite.
Burt and Paul did their best not to laugh at him and just focused on eating their own pieces. Once everyone had finished, Dave took the leftover cheesecake back, put it back in the carrier, and put it in the fridge. Kurt got up and started putting the dishes in the dishwasher.
Burt and Paul stayed seated in the dining room.
Burt spoke very quietly where Kurt couldn’t hear him. “We might as well start planning for the wedding.”
Paul laughed.
“If you think I’m joking, I’m not. Your son just spent his winter break learning to cook to impress my son. He loves Kurt. There is no other explanation. He could have been sleeping all day, playing video games, whatever. But no, he spent the time doing something to impress the boy he loves.”
“They’re too young.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Kurt came back in the room with Dave following along behind him. “Do you want to leave all of the salad toppings in the little bowls?”
“Nah. Since the leftovers are yours and you like everything, let’s just toss it all in and make a chopped tossed salad out of it.”
They dumped all of the toppings in. Dave took the empty bowls to the kitchen and brought back the lid for the center salad bowl. After Kurt put the lid on, he picked the bowl up and shook it. Dave folded up the wire server. They left the dining room and finished cleaning the kitchen.
Paul smiled and shook his head. “You may be right. Three months ago, he could make macaroni and cheese and cold sandwiches. He makes really simple dinners for us now, but what he made today took a lot of time and effort.” He took a deep breath and let it out.
“I called them both weird yesterday when I went downstairs and they were sitting in Kurt’s bed getting ready to read the books they got each other for Christmas.”
Paul laughed. “They are weird. Let’s go watch stuff get blown up. I can’t take anymore mushy gushy talk about my teenage son being in love.”
Once they finished with the kitchen, Kurt and Dave headed down to Kurt’s room. Dave sat down on the futon. Kurt waited for him to get comfortable and then sat down on his lap facing Dave. He ran his hand down Dave’s cheek. “Where did you learn to make the dishes you brought?”
“Well, while you were at the shop all day long, I, um … mayhavewatchedabunchofcookingvideos.”
“I missed that.”
Dave sighed.
Kurt laughed and kissed him gently. He ran his hands down Dave’s shoulders to his hands and intertwined their fingers. “A little more slowly this time.”
“While you were at the shop, I watched cooking videos. I made my selection and then watched the videos, like, five times each to make sure I could do it right. Then, I went out and bought the ingredients and made them, while watching the videos and pausing when I needed to.”
“That is the most romantic thing ever. You are so sweet to me. Thank you. Everything was delicious.”
“I’m glad you liked it so much.”
Kurt stood back up and grabbed a pillow. “Will you lay down? I want to snuggle if that’s okay.”
Dave turned and lay down on his back. Kurt put a pillow under Dave’s head.
“Hmm. Scoot to the front edge of the futon a bit.”
Once Dave moved, Kurt went into the closet and came back with a rolled-up blanket and put it along the back edge between Dave and the back of the futon. He also brought the comforter back out and unfolded it and laid it out along the back edge of the futon. He turned some classical guitar music on and went back to the futon and lay down so that he was partially on the rolled blanket and partially lying on Dave. It took a couple of minutes of maneuvering to get into a comfortable position. They shut their eyes and lay together, enjoying the closeness.
“What are you thinking about?” Kurt asked.
“Two totally different things.”
“Such as?”
“Well, my mind was wandering places it didn’t need to go, so I forced myself to think of the opposite type of thing, and then Rachel and Jesse came to mind.”
“Rachel and Jesse?”
“Yeah. It’s just really weird. Why on earth would the lead singer for Vocal Adrenaline be willing to set aside his chance for a fourth consecutive national title to date a 15-year-old? Well, I guess she’s 16 by now, but still. She was saying something about her birthday being during Hanukkah.”
“Who would willingly attend a high school like McKinley when they go to Carmel in Akron? That’s nuts. Who transfers their last semester of high school to be with someone they randomly met two weeks before they transfer?”
“It really makes no sense at all,” Dave agreed.
“They’re looking at long-distance for a long time unless he’s going to college in Columbus or Toledo and that would make it a shorter long-distance situation. I mean he’s attractive and talented, but the whole thing makes no sense. And now we have an even more unbalanced group. We really need some more girls. Anyway, what were you trying NOT to think about?”
Dave didn’t answer right away, but then quietly said, “Youwithoutyourshirt.”
Kurt tipped his head up and when Dave felt him moving he turned his head to the side to look him in the eyes. Kurt batted his eyes, in a completely ridiculous way.
“Oh, really? Maybe it’s your turn to be shirtless.”
“You want me to take my shirt off?”
“Yeah.” Kurt blushed.
“Seriously?”
Kurt pushed up just enough that he could kiss Dave. “Mm-hmm.”
“Raise up, then.”
Kurt propped up so that Dave could move his arm and pull his shirt off. He lay back down, pulled the comforter back over them, and Kurt got comfortable again, except he kept his left arm on top of his own body instead of across Dave’s chest.
After a couple of minutes, Dave turned and looked at him again. “Are you sure this is what you wanted? You’re acting like I have cooties now.”
“I didn’t … I don’t …”
“Hey, it’s okay.” He kissed Kurt on his forehead. “I can put it back on.”
“It’s not that. I just don’t know what’s okay.”
“How about this? We’ll stick to touching anywhere that’s not covered with clothing?”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m very, very sure.”
Kurt moved his arm and laid it across Dave’s chest the way he most often put it when they were snuggled up in that position. He moved his hand slightly, rubbing it against the hair on Dave’s chest.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. You’re just really …”
Dave turned and tipped Kurt’s chin up and kissed him gently. “What? Really what?”
“Hot.”
“Oh.”
“Were you expecting me to say something else?”
“I wasn’t really expecting anything, but I’ve never thought of myself as attractive.”
“Well, me neither, but you think I’m hot, so you’ll just have to trust my judgment. You’re sure about me touching you?”
“I’m positive. It’s on my Top 2 List of Things to Dream About.”
“And the other thing that makes the Top 2?”
“Me touching you.”
“I see.” Kurt blushed. “If the other guys at school look like you do with their shirts off, it’s no wonder they call me a girly boy and the other things.”
“Oh, no. A few of them might have a tiny bit of chest hair and might be able to grow a mustache, but I’m definitely the odd one out. Hudson led the charge on teasing me when I started going through puberty before all of the other guys.”
Kurt had closed his eyes and focused on his sense of touch. “He should keep his mouth shut. He’s just jealous—with good reason.”
“Probably. I DO have the hottest boyfriend in the whole school.”
Kurt burst out laughing. “I don’t think he’s going to think that.”
Dave kissed Kurt. “His loss.”
“I’ve wondered more recently if he’s actually more homophobic than Puck. I always thought he held my jacket and bag to be nice, but sometimes I wonder if he did it to keep from having to touch me at all.”
“Enough of that. We’re snuggling on a holiday.”
“You’re right. I have a totally hot shirtless guy in my bed. That should definitely be my focus.”
Dave laughed.
After resting and relaxing for four days, it was time to return to work. Dave worked out in the weight room in the mornings for a while the Cheerios practiced. When he finished, he stopped by and watched them for a while before he left.
Dave spent Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday afternoon secretly building an ottoman for Kurt’s room. Monday, he went to the Hummels' while Kurt was still at Cheerios' practice and took measurements. He grabbed the leftover stain from when they restained the futon frame and took it with him, and then he headed to Lowe’s for supplies. He took in a rough drawing and the guy who worked in the wood section helped him figure out what all he needed. He took everything back to his own house and worked on it each afternoon.
While Kurt was at the shop on Thursday, Dave took the ottoman to Kurt’s room and put it under the futon to surprise him on New Year’s Day. He had decided to keep the other gift he had gotten for Kurt and give it to him as an early Valentine’s Day present. From there, he went straight to Sam’s Club to pick up pizzas for their New Year’s Eve party that evening. Kurt went directly to Dave’s house when he got off. He showered quickly and changed into the clothes he had left there.
After he was ready, Kurt went downstairs. He found Dave in the kitchen, getting out the paper plates and stuff they needed. Kurt walked up next to him, turned, and hopped up onto the counter. He spread his knees apart.
“Is that an invitation?”
“Definitely.”
Dave stepped closer to Kurt and stood in the space Kurt had made for him. Once Dave got close enough, Kurt wrapped his feet around Dave and pulled him flush against his chest, then wrapped his arms around Dave’s neck.
“Hi.”
Dave smiled. “You’re a monkey. All wrapped around me like this.”
“Is that so?” Before he could say anything else, Kurt pressed his lips to Dave’s gently, then laid his head on Dave’s shoulder. “I’m exhausted. I may not make it until midnight. Dad moved me to doing tire changes because we had so many people who wanted them. He called Puck in to help me.”
“How about a massage tonight?”
“Yes, please. Yes. How about you put those on the table and we go lay down on the couch and I take a nap on you?”
“What do I look like, a teddy bear?”
“Mm-hmm. My life-size teddy bear. Perfect for snuggling.”
“You’ll have to let go of me for us to go in there.”
Kurt harrumphed, then let his feet and arms drop. Dave picked up the paper plates, napkins, and cups and took them out to the dining room. Kurt slid down off the counter and walked into the living room. He waited for Dave to lie down first. He crawled over him, then lay down nearly on top of him and relaxed. He managed to sleep for a half-hour before the doorbell rang the first time.
“Come on, Fancy. We’ve got to answer the door.”
Kurt wiggled and got more comfortable. Dave laughed at him, then heard Paul open the door and greet Azimio.
“Hey, Azimio. Come on in. Put the chips on the table. I don’t know where the two of them are. Feel free to look around until you find them.”
Azimio looked in the den first and then moved on to the living room. When he came in he found them lying on the couch. Dave’s eyes were open, but Kurt was obviously out cold. Azimio pulled his phone out. Dave glared at him and he just cackled quietly. Dave rolled his eyes and just shut them. Once Azimio had what he wanted, Dave motioned for him to leave the room.
He ran his hand along Kurt’s arm and spoke quietly. “Fancy, wake up. People are starting to get here.”
Kurt stretched.
“You’re adorable, but you have to get up or people are going to find you sleeping on me like this.”
“M’kay.” Kurt moved in a way that let Dave sit up.
Dave kissed him on the cheek. “Come on. You can do it. Up we go.” Dave took his hands and pulled him to standing.
The doorbell rang again. This time Azimio answered it. Dave and Kurt made their way out to the foyer as well.
“Put the food in the dining room, through there.” Dave pointed. “Just put your coats and stuff in the living room behind me.”
Kurt went into the dining room and out onto the back patio to grab two of the pizzas to put them in the oven. He shut the oven door and set the timer.
When he came back into the dining room, Azimio was waiting for him. “I didn’t get to tell you, but my momma LOVED that cake. And I got some serious brownie points for cooking breakfast for her myself. You rock, dude.”
Kurt laughed. How had his life changed so much in a little over three months? “I’m glad she liked it.”
“I don’t see any fancy desserts here tonight, though, dude. That’s definitely a letdown.”
“Yeah, well I’ve not really been home much this week. I’ve been putting in extra hours at the shop since it’s a busy season with customers wanting new tires before we start to get a lot of snow, but employees also want time off to spend with their families.”
“Yeah, I can see that.”
The doorbell rang again, so they both went back out to the foyer to answer the door.
While waiting for more pizzas to cook, they started the evening with Dirty Santa. Since Dave was the host, they decided that he would get to go last, so they started to his left, which happened to be Kurt.
Kurt chose from the pile of gifts wrapped in brown paper from grocery bags. He ripped the paper off revealing a large jar of Nutella, which he knew wouldn’t stay in his possession for very long.
Mercedes went next. She picked up the gift that Kurt had brought, which was a nice nail care kit. “I KNOW this cost more than $5, Kurt Hummel.”
“I bought it last year at the 70% off after-Christmas sale. It was between $4.50 and $5.”
“Well, I’m keeping it.”
Artie ended up picking the metal puzzles that Dave had bought and seemed pleased. The Nutella, a large bar of chocolate, and a large box of Little Debbies Star Crunches were the most frequently stolen items.
Kurt thought he had managed to snag back the Nutella for himself, but then he ended up with a nice Art Deco coloring book when Brittany, who was sitting to Dave’s right, swiped the Nutella from Kurt.
Dave had been planning to steal the Nutella from whoever had it on his turn, but he didn’t have the heart to take it from Brittany when she looked so happy, so Dave picked up the last unwrapped package and opened it to find a pack of AA batteries.
“At least they’re useful.” Dave got up and picked up all of the paper and put it in the recycling bin.
Later that evening between movies, Santana said, “Let’s play a game.”
“Charades?” Brittany asked.
“Maybe later, Britt. How about Never Have I Ever?”
Puck said, “With this crowd, that will be boring.”
“Let’s just see,” Santana said.
“No alcohol, remember?” Puck reminded her.
“Fine," she said. "We’ll use poker chips or something and the loser has to ... um ... perform ‘For Your Entertainment’.”
Kurt blushed and got up to go get Dave’s poker chips. He brought them back down and put them in the middle of the circle they were sitting in.
“I’ll go first,” Kurt said as he plopped down next to Dave. “Never have I ever kissed a girl.”
All of the guys except Kurt and Dave took a poker chip. So did Tina, Brittany, and Santana.
Dave said, “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping.”
Brittany asked Santana quietly, “Does the hot tub count?”
Everyone tried to contain their laughter. Santana nodded. The two of them, Puck, and Matt took a chip.
“We went camping one weekend and I forgot my trunks. No one was around,” Matt said.
Puck said, “Never have I ever painted my fingernails.”
All the girls and Kurt took a chip. Santana and Puck made eye contact, and she nodded just slightly. The game went around a few times and the guys kept naming things only girls generally did, like manicures and plucking their eyebrows. And the girls said things that guys would do, like leaving their armpits unshaven. Kurt ended up with a massive pile of poker chips.
“Fine. Who’s got the song on their phone?”
Santana pulled her phone out and turned it all the way up and started the music.
“You asked for this. Remember that.” As Adam Lambert began to sing, Kurt sang right along with him. He strutted, swayed, swiveled his hips, and practically gave every person in the room a lap dance without touching anyone anywhere.
“Holy hell, Hummel, where’d you learn to dance like you belong in a club?” Puck asked.
Kurt just sashayed out of the room.
“Pick the next movie. I’m going to go put more pizzas in,” Dave said.
“You do that, Dave,” Santana said, as she laughed at him.
Kurt was headed to the kitchen to get a drink of water on his way back down to the den from Dave’s bathroom when he nearly crashed into Dave as he came out of the downstairs half-bath.
Dave grabbed him to keep him from stumbling and pulled him close. “I barely made it through the song.”
Kurt kissed him. “I’m sorry. I was torn between doing my best and us ending up needing a trip to the bathroom OR doing a lousy job and having all of them keep their low opinions of my dancing skills. The girls all act like I’m built like a Ken doll with no libido. And the guys all act like I’m a prudish girl. I didn’t mean to get you all flustered.”
“My willpower and self-restraint got their work out. God, you’re sexy just normally. Dancing like that—I just spent four minutes doing my best to keep from needing to change my clothes. That’s how you were dancing the night I brought you home.”
Kurt saw Puck approaching. He stepped back out of Dave’s embrace and raised his eyebrow questioningly.
“Sexy is sexy, Hummel. Nice job. You win. You’re the reigning Never Have I Ever champion of Glee.” He pushed past them to get to the half-bath.
Dave kissed Kurt again. He spoke very quietly into Kurt’s ear. “I’m not sure he’s as straight as he purports to be.”
Kurt laughed. “And I’m pretty sure that I was completely set up by Puck and Santana. It was more like a well-planned dare. I just couldn’t back down. You’re not mad at me are you?”
“No, not at all. You weren’t touching anyone, and no one was touching you. But now I think you have a better idea why I was so determined to bring you home that night. With you sexy dancing like that, even one of the girls might have had the idea to get you in bed.”
“You have no idea how much I appreciate that you saved me from that possibly happening to me.” Kurt heard the oven beeping. “Come on.” He took Dave’s hand to go back to the kitchen.
At 11:30, they turned the TV on to watch the ball drop in Times Square. At the end of the countdown, Kurt leaned over and kissed Dave. “Happy New Year.”
Dave smiled. “With you, definitely.”
Kurt sat back up, and Dave stood up.
“Alright. For those of you who are staying … Girls sleep upstairs in the guest room. Try to keep it down. My dad’s room is upstairs too. Guys sleep in here. Anyone leaving should do so soon. My dad doesn’t want anyone out driving when there’s a good chance of there being drunk drivers leaving the bars in an hour or two. There are a few rules. If you get hungry, use the microwave or eat the pizza cold. No using the stove top or the oven during the night. Follow your own family’s rules about sleeping arrangements. My dad is home, so if your parents ask my dad what you did, make sure whatever you’re doing won’t get you in trouble because my dad won’t lie for you. Oh, and stay inside and keep the doors locked.”
Jesse, Azimio, and Puck stayed. Finn drove Artie home. Matt and Mike headed to Mike’s. Dave had brought his system down earlier and hooked it up in the den. Azimio and Puck were planning to play against the other four once they got to Artie’s and Mike’s.
Of the girls, Rachel, Santana, and Brittany stayed. Tina opted to let Mercedes take her home after she found out that Mercedes’ family was going out of town to celebrate Christmas with her dad’s side of the family early the next morning so she couldn’t spend the night. Santana and Brittany grabbed their stuff from the living room and went upstairs. Jesse and Rachel went into the living room and curled up on the couch to talk. Kurt and Dave put the rest of the pizza in the fridge before heading upstairs.
Once Dave was in the shower, Kurt went into the bathroom, did his moisturizing routine, and brushed his teeth. He got in bed as soon as he was done. A few minutes later, Dave came out of the bathroom. He locked his bedroom door to prevent any unwanted photography during the night like Azimio had pulled that afternoon. He turned some soft music on, flipped the light off, and got in bed. Kurt was already lying in the bed, face down in the middle.
Dave laughed. “I see you're ready for the massage.” Dave climbed into bed and started rubbing Kurt’s calves.
“So ready. Regionals is the day after tomorrow. Coach Sue is not easy to please.”
“I know. I have to rein in my desire to duct tape her mouth shut when I hear what she says sometimes.”
“She’s ridiculous. That’s for sure.”
Dave turned and worked on Kurt’s shoulders for a few minutes. “Turn on your side before you fall asleep.”
Kurt turned to face the center of the bed.
“Wrong way, Fancy,” Dave teased.
“Nope. Your lips are over here.”
New Year’s Day began with Kurt letting Dave sleep in while he headed down to the kitchen to make sure that no one set the kitchen on fire by attempting to cook. He got downstairs to find that Puck was the only one awake. He was sitting in the dining room eating a slice of cold pizza.
“Hey,” Kurt said as he entered the room. He plopped down in the chair at the end of the table near where Puck was sitting.
“Hey. There’s still more pizza in there if you want it.”
“I’m good. I’ll probably make some eggs in a bit. What was with the Never Have I Ever last night? I saw the ‘moment’ you and Santana had before everyone made sure that I lost. I’m sure that ‘Never have I ever painted my fingernails.’ isn’t the usual type of declaration that gets made in that game.”
Puck laughed. “Fine. You’re right. I made some kind of smartass remark about you not being sexy enough to dance with the guys on some song. Honestly, I don’t even remember what song now. But Santana came to your defense and talked about how you were all kinds of sexy dancing at Strando’s party after the first football game you played in. I knew you’d never do it unless it was some kind of dare or some way to save face. And she was right. I lost the bet. Thanks for that, by the way.” He laughed.
Kurt shook his head. “What do you have to do for her?”
“How do you know that I don’t owe her money?”
“She’s got money. She doesn’t need yours. She acts like she’s from the wrong side of the tracks, but she’s not. Anyway, she’d be much more inclined to make you do something humiliating as her reward.”
“You’re, like, all CIA aren’t you?”
“I told you. When people ignore your existence, you hear and see a lot of things. So, what do you have to do?”
“I have to detail her car.”
“Oh. That’s not so bad. We have all the stuff to do that down at the shop. If you can get her to bring it in, you can do it there when you’re not on the clock.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. You’ve been doing a good job at the shop. If you ever want to study to get some of the certifications, the books are at the shop. I can show you where. You can borrow them one at a time, so long as you bring them back.”
“That’d be awesome. I’ve been looking at some of the stuff we got when Paul took us to LCC. But I’m not sure that any kind of college is for me. I know I’ve got time to think still, but I think I could get into being a mechanic. I’m good at fixing stuff.”
“I’d love to be a performer on Broadway, but the older I get without my speaking voice changing, the less likely that becomes. So, I’m looking at other things too. No real idea what, though.”
“What do you mean about your voice? You’re a really good singer.”
“Thanks. But I’m not very masculine. I’m too androgynous to play most of the male lead roles in musicals. I’m the plucky best gay or the fashion designer or interior decorator or the hair stylist.” Kurt lowered his voice. “Did Jesse ever make it to the den to sleep?”
“No, but we went and checked on them like ten times. They were just sleeping on the couch. I don’t trust him any farther than I can throw him. Rachel may be as annoying as hell sometimes, but she’s our lead female singer, and if he’s here to mess with her—I’m not down with that.”
“Me either.” Kurt looked at what was left on the table. “Looks like a swarm of locusts hit the snacks.”
“You’re so weird. But yeah. Finn was here. Dude can eat.”
Kurt laughed. “I know I’m weird, but at least I own up to it.”
“Yeah, you do.” Puck laughed at him. “That you do.”
Kurt punched him in the shoulder.
“Hey, that stings.”
“Baby.”
“Dork.”
“Whatever. Do you want some eggs?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Kurt got up and started making scrambled eggs. He put a plate of them in front of Puck and then went back into the kitchen to grab the two plates he had made for himself and Dave. He put theirs on a tray and poured glasses of juice and added them to the tray. He sat it down on the table when he realized that he had forgotten the forks.
“You always make him breakfast in bed?”
“Nope. Sometimes he makes breakfast for me,” Kurt sassed. He carried the tray out of the room and he could still hear Puck laughing as he started up the stairs.
Kurt sat the tray down on the dresser when he went into Dave’s room. He shut and locked the door before he walked over to the bed and kissed Dave on the forehead. “Hey, handsome. I made you breakfast.”
“Mmm. Thanks.” He slid up in the bed.
Kurt brought the tray over and sat it between them. “It’s nothing fancy, but it beats more pizza I think.”
Dave picked his plate up and ate the eggs. “It’s great. Thanks.” He put the empty plate back and drank the juice.
Kurt finished his and put the tray back on the dresser. He got back in bed with Dave and snuggled up. “Happy New Year.”
“Do you want to exchange our gifts now?”
“Um, soon? How about we get everyone else to go home first?”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly 10:00.”
“Then my dad will be shooing everyone out really soon. I guess we can go down and tell everyone goodbye.”
“Or we can pretend we went back to sleep.” Kurt scooted closer and kissed Dave. “We’re supposed to spend holiday mornings kissing in bed, remember?”
“Oh, I remember. And you’re very persuasive, but let’s go make sure everyone leaves.”
While Azimio was in the bathroom, Dave managed to grab his phone, send the photo he had taken to his own phone, and delete the original image. He went back to the dining room to help Kurt clean up. In less than a half-hour, everyone had left, even Paul. He told them he would be back for dinner and headed to his brother’s for the afternoon.
Once everyone had left, they did one last sweep of the downstairs. Kurt headed into Dave’s room while Dave checked the guest room.
When Dave came in, Kurt was in bed waiting for him.
“Now, it’s just us.” Dave slipped under the covers and slid his arm under Kurt’s neck.
Kurt rolled onto his side facing Dave. “So, snuggles? Kisses? I could give you a massage.”
“Snuggles first.”
They spent close to an hour snuggled up talking about whatever came to mind. The topic eventually came around to the Cheerleading Regionals the next day.
Kurt ran his fingers along Dave’s bicep. “I wish I could sneak you onto the bus. It would be more fun. I’m really nervous. I’m new, and if I botch this, Coach Sue will make my life a living hell.”
“I think you’ll be great.”
“Of course you do.” Kurt tickled him. “That’s what boyfriends are supposed to say.”
“Maybe. But I mean it.”
Kurt kissed him. “Thank you.”
“Of course. But I’d like more kisses. We’re still going out for lunch and then to your house this afternoon. We’re going to watch the Night at the Museum movie on your huge TV, right?”
“Yep. My dad’s going to some car auction somewhere.”
“So, let’s get back to the kissing.” Dave tugged him closer.
After they finished eating the Chinese food they had picked up on the way home, Kurt pulled out the two slices of cheesecake he had frozen the week before and put them in the fridge to defrost when Dave wasn’t looking.
Dave went down the stairs first. When they got to the bottom, he said, “Close your eyes.”
Kurt closed his eyes as requested. First, Dave turned some music on to block the sound so Kurt couldn’t guess what he was doing. Dave pulled the ottoman out from under the futon and popped it up to its full height. He walked back to where Kurt was waiting and stepped in front of him.
“Okay. Open your eyes.”
“Oh, wow. It matches the futon perfectly. Thank you.”
“All we need now is for you to make a cushion for the top.”
“We can go out to JoAnn Fabrics and get what we need after we watch the movie. It’s perfect. Let’s try it out even though we don’t have the cushion yet.” Kurt grabbed a small box off his shelf before he followed Dave to the futon. He sat down next to him and put his legs up. “This will be perfect for reading. You did it all by yourself?”
“I had a little design help from a guy at Lowe’s. I took a drawing in with me, and he helped me tweak it. And of course, he used the huge saw and cut the boards.”
“We’ll use it a lot, I’m sure. It’s a lot more comfortable than leaning against the wall or just sitting here.”
Dave’s smile lit up his eyes and he beamed from all the praise from Kurt.
“So, I have your gift.” Kurt handed Dave the box. “I made it myself as well.”
Dave opened the box to find a woven bracelet, made with variegated black, blue, and gray paracord. Kurt had ordered a specialized stainless steel clasp to make it sturdier than the ones made with the plastic snap buckles. Dave picked it up and examined it.
“What's the design on the fastener?”
“Well, it’s a secret message just for you. Everyone will be able to see it, but no one else will know what it says.” Kurt rotated it 180 degrees. “It’s three words with the letters all drawn inside the same circle, like they’re stacked on top of each other.”
Dave examined it carefully. “K ... T ... D ... A ... E ... S ... V ... U ... R”
“You found most of the letters.”
“Is it a puzzle for me to figure out, or are you going to tell me?”
“A puzzle.”
Dave got up and got a notepad and a pencil. He wrote out the letters he had already found. He examined the engraved disc again. “What am I missing?”
Kurt looked at the paper. “What would the E be without the top two horizontal lines?”
“An L.” He added L to the letters.
“And the circle around the outside is an O.”
Dave added that. He looked at the letters on the page and recognized his name and Kurt’s. He underlined those letters. All that was left was “S … O … L”.
“A clue. Two letters are used more than once.”
“Hmm.”
“Last hint. The second word goes in the middle and it starts with L.”
Dave smiled. He wrote out “Kurt loves Dave?”
“You got it.” Kurt took the pad and pencil and put them on the floor. He rearranged and straddled Dave’s lap. He tipped Dave’s chin up gently and looked him in the eyes. “I love you. Will you wear this bracelet as a reminder of that?”
“Of course.”
Kurt leaned down and kissed him. “Can I put it on you?”
Dave handed it to Kurt and held his left arm out. Kurt positioned it so that the letters were facing so that Dave could read them. He fastened it in place with the bolt pin. He kissed Dave’s wrist and then leaned forward again. He put his hands on the sides of Dave’s face and kissed him again. Dave wrapped his arms around Kurt’s lower back.
“You’re serious, right?”
“I would never say it if I weren’t. I love you, Dave.” Kurt slid his hands down to Dave’s shoulders and kissed down his neck. He snuggled into Dave’s chest and rested his head on Dave’s shoulder, nuzzling into his neck. He spoke quietly. “I wanted to give you something personal, but I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable wearing it, like a ring or a necklace. You can use the paracord if you ever need it for an emergency. It can hold 550 pounds. Just take the bolt pin out and use it to fasten the clasp to a belt loop or a key ring. I can either redo the bracelet using the original cord or I can replace it but still use the clasp with the engraved piece on it. It’s waterproof, so you can leave it on in the shower or a pool if you want.”
“Sit up for a minute.”
Kurt sat up and looked at Dave, who looked like he might cry.
Dave ran his hand down Kurt’s cheek and said, “I love you too. I have for quite a while. I was just scared to tell you. I was afraid that you didn’t feel the same and that I’d scare you off by making you feel pressured to say it back to me.”
“I’ve known for a while that you did. And I knew for sure last week. And I had already finished the bracelet, but then we talked about exchanging gifts on New Year’s Day instead of Christmas. If you look under the cotton layer in the box, there’s something else.”
Dave picked the box up and removed the layer of cotton. “It’s a second bracelet.”
“It fits me. It’s a slightly different weaving pattern, but done with the same paracord.”
Dave looked at it. “It has the same tiny medallion with the letters.”
“I made it a little flatter so it would fit under my dress shirt cuffs more easily.”
Dave was still looking at it.
“If you’d rather me not wear it, I can wait, or just not wear it at school.”
“What? Sorry, I zoned out. No, please can I put it on you? My silence had nothing to do with me not wanting you to wear it. More like the opposite—shock that you want to wear it. It’s like this really amazing dream and—”
Kurt interrupted his statement by kissing him again. “Of course, I want to wear it.” He stuck his left wrist out and rotated the bracelet. He explained how to put the bolt pin in. It took Dave a couple of tries since he had never done it before. He kissed Kurt’s wrist and then pulled him down gently so they could kiss again.
“It’s perfect.”
“I’m so glad you opened up to me that morning. Otherwise, I would have never gotten to know what an amazing guy you are. If you’re wondering what gave you away, it was all the trouble you went to when you learned to cook just to make me something I’d really enjoy. You are the sweetest guy, David Karofsky.”
Dave blushed. “I’m still not convinced I’m not dreaming. I’ve had some pretty crazy dreams that you starred in.”
“David!” Kurt sounded scandalized.
“Well, there were some of THOSE types of dreams, I won’t lie, but a lot of them were just me having the nerve to even talk to you and then you being willing to talk to me. I was so terrified to talk to you, but I’m glad I did. Really glad. I love you so much. Tell me how came up with the design.”
“I came up with the paracord idea first because I thought it was manly enough that you might actually be willing to wear it. I tried different designs and I was going to use a rectangular stainless steel piece across the front and fasten it into the paracord, but then I thought people might want to look at it and try to figure out what it said and I wanted it to be something just between the two of us. So, I kept messing around and I just wrote ‘Kurt loves Dave’ putting the letters all in the same space. And I kind of liked it. I tried again with all caps and that’s what I decided to go with. I used the engraver at the shop on the stainless medallions and I painted the engraved part, wiped the excess off, and let them dry. Afterwards, I put the metal clear coat on them that we use at the shop and I welded them to the clasps.”
“I like the idea. It’s something everyone can see, but it’s also something private just between us.”
Kurt tipped Dave’s chin up. “I know you’ve loved me for a long time, and you’ve been scared I was just going along with this because you were my only option. I want you not to feel that way. I could have said ‘no’. I wasn’t desperate for a boyfriend. I was pretty desperate for a friend, and you offered me that as an option as well. I’ve never felt pressured by you. You’ve been a real gentleman. And I’m really thankful for that. I’m a romantic at heart. You made me see that you are too. You told me up front that you didn’t want an easy lay or even a fuck buddy, which you could have gotten easily without any of the problems dating me has caused you. You knew the risk and you took it willingly. And it cost you a lot. I like the time we spend reading and playing games and watching movies and just spending time together. And I like cooking with you. And those are all things we could have done as just friends. But I really love when you snuggle up behind me and hold me close. I love slow-dancing with you. I love it when you just reach out for my hand when I’m nearby or put your hand on my lower back or my leg. I really never expected to have the chance to love someone until I was a lot older and I had moved away from Lima. And I love you—not because you’re my only option, but because you’re amazing.”
Dave nodded and those tears he had managed to contain, slipped down his cheeks. Kurt reached out and used his thumbs to wipe them away.
“They’re happy tears.”
“I know. But I also know there’s some sadness mixed in there too. It’s not been a walk in the park the last three and a half months. But I’m glad you gave me the chance to get to know you and to love you.” He kissed Dave gently. “You’re an amazing guy, and I’m proud to be your boyfriend. Do you want to go up and watch the movie now?”
Dave leaned up and kissed him. “Yeah.”
Dave was half sitting, half reclining with Kurt lying back on him like Dave was his personal chaise when the movie ended. Kurt turned over and got on all fours and allowed Dave to reposition himself. Rather than sitting up and letting Kurt sit at a 90-degree angle to him in the corner, Dave slid down more until he was flat on his back and he gently pulled Kurt down on top of him.
Kurt relaxed and lay down on him. He turned his head to the side, using Dave’s chest as a pillow. Kurt ran his fingers through Dave’s hair. He moved his legs to get a little more comfortable and felt something pressed against his abdomen, which made him realize what his squirming had caused. He scooted to his right and squished himself on his side between the sofa back and Dave’s side. Dave turned his body slightly so he could see Kurt more easily. His face was really flushed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to …”
“I know. It’s fine. It happens a lot. You’re insanely attractive. Hey, look at me, please.”
Kurt managed to make eye contact.
“I know you’re not doing it on purpose. You’re not being a tease if that’s what you think I think.”
“No, I just feel like I’m a letdown because I’m not ready to go farther. My dad talked about how sex changes things between people. And after he and I talked, I looked at the people at school who are open about the fact that they are sexually active, and honestly, they don’t seem happy. And I don’t know why. Is it because they just randomly have sex and never feel connected to the person, like they think it will create this special connection and it doesn’t happen, so they’re let down by the whole experience so they try again and again unsuccessfully to make that connection? Or do they make that connection, only to have the other person break it by cheating on them or by leaving them for whatever reason? I love you and I like how we are together. I love the closeness we have, and I guess after what my dad said, I feel like if we move quickly that our relationship will become more about sex than everything else. And I don’t want to lose those other things.”
“I don’t want us to be together just for that either. And I’m not disappointed. Just because my body reacts, doesn’t mean that you have some obligation to do something about it. I was enjoying being your pillow.”
“Ooh! I just remembered something. Hop up and go in the kitchen, and then close your eyes.”
Dave did as Kurt asked. Kurt opened the fridge and pulled out the bowl with the cheesecake slices. He took the lid off and got out a fork. He stood in front of Dave and asked him to open his mouth, then he put a bite of the cheesecake in. He took a bite of the other slice and ate it.
“You saved some.”
“I did. I wanted to have the last piece with you today.” He fed Dave another bite.
They stood there with Kurt feeding both of them until the cheesecake was gone. Kurt put the bowl and fork in the dishwasher. He turned around and Dave was staring at his bracelet.
“Please be honest. If you don’t want to wear it, you can just fasten it to your backpack or keep it fastened around the lamp on your nightstand.” He stepped closer and wrapped his arms around Dave’s neck. “I love you whether you wear it or not.”
“I wasn’t looking at it because it was bothering me. I was looking at it because it’s really cool. And of course, I’m going to wear it.” He squeezed Kurt gently. “I love you and I'll wear the bracelet because I want to wear it. Are you ready to go get some foam and fabric to make a cushion for the ottoman?”
“I’m just going to run down and grab the fabric swatch that came with the futon cover. I’ll be right back up. Do you know the measurements?”
“Yep.”
When they were in the fabric store, Dave left Kurt in the fabric section to go to the bathroom. He stopped on the way back to look at some really soft-looking yarn in a wire bin. A boy about 11 years old walked up and started playing with the skeins of yarn, running his hands through the bin. Dave smiled at him.
“I like your bracelet.”
“Thanks.”
“Where did you buy it?”
“Oh, I didn’t buy it. It was a gift. My boyfriend made it for me and gave it to me—today actually.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Yep.”
“But you’re a jock. Gay boys are sissies.”
“Nope, not true. Gay people come in as many varieties as people who aren’t gay. There are gay football players, like me and my boyfriend. There are gay musicians, teachers, chefs, artists, anything you can think of.”
“Oh.”
“And just because a guy likes to do something like sew or paint or make stuff doesn’t mean he’s gay. What people like to do and who people love are completely unrelated.”
“I think I get it. You can’t tell just by looking at someone or by what they like to do or are good at.”
“Exactly. And it doesn’t make someone any different. And unless you want to date someone, who that person is attracted to isn’t really your business because it doesn’t affect your life. Think about it like this. Would you refuse to be friends with someone because they like to eat a food you don’t like?”
“No, that’s dumb.”
“But what if you had to pair up with someone to split a meal evenly? Then would it matter what the other person likes?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s how it works with people. Unless who the person likes directly affects you somehow, then it shouldn’t matter to you whether someone likes boys or girls.”
“That makes sense.”
“Does being friends with someone who likes a food you don’t like make you end up liking the food?”
“No, that’s dumb too.”
“Being gay isn’t catching. Just because someone is gay doesn’t mean they can make other people gay. It just doesn’t work that way.”
“My grandma was in the hospital, so I spent a lot of time with her, and she taught me how to knit. And I really like knitting, but one of the boys at school found out because my sister told his sister that I made her hat. Now, the boys tease me and call me a girl. But I’m not a girl. And I think girls are cute, not boys, so I’m not gay. But the other guys tease me a lot.”
“Is your mom here with you?”
“Yeah. She’s looking at the paintbrushes.”
“Will you please tell her what the boys at school are doing to you? Don’t wait until it gets worse. Someone needs to tell them what I told you, so they can learn. What they’re doing to you is wrong, and it needs to stop.”
“I’ll tell her. I didn’t want to, but I will.”
“Actually, honey, I’m right here. Is that why you didn’t make any hats this fall?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m going to talk to your teacher and get this straightened out. Why don’t you pick the one you like from that bin and go get in line?” He grabbed one and took the $5 bill she offered him, then went to get in line.
“Thanks. I know we tell kids not to talk to strangers, but I think you’re just young enough for him to not be afraid of you. He’d been really sullen over the last couple of months, but wouldn’t tell me what was bothering him.”
“You’re welcome. My boyfriend’s been where your son is now. It only got worse. I don’t want that for other kids. Gay or not. It got more physical in junior high, but by high school, he was being tossed in dumpsters and physically bullied. The school did nothing. Maybe if you start now, things will be different by the time he’s in high school.”
“Are they better now?”
“Well, the main offenders got expelled after they beat me up after they found out I’m gay. My dad’s a lawyer. Otherwise, I’m not sure anything would have happened.”
“I see. I better get up front. Thanks again. I’m going to go talk to his teacher as soon as school starts back up.” She walked away.
Dave smiled and nodded.
“There you are.” Kurt smiled when he saw Dave and grabbed his hand. “Come look at the three options I found.”
|
By the time Katsuki gets back from dinner Deku still isn’t in the dorms. He’d been hit with some quirk out on an internship mission, at least that’s what the understanding of the rest of the class was, but no one knew exactly what the quirk had been. Around the third time Denki suggests that maybe all of Deku’s fingers have been replaced by toes Katsuki loses his shit, standing in a huff and leaving the common room. He doesn’t go far, only to the kitchen, but it’s far enough that he doesn’t have to listen to the rest of their inane ideas.
Katsuki hates that he cares what happens to Deku, and he hates that he doesn’t know what happened. His mind is churning through all of the worst-case scenarios, and his only relief is the buzz of his phone in his pocket. Aizawa’s name flashes across the screen and Katsuki raises it to answer, his heart slamming in his ears.
“Yeah?” Katsuki knows that’s not how he’s supposed to answer the phone when his teacher calls, but he’s lucky he got any words out at all.
“Midoriya is okay, but he’d like an escort back to the dorms. Can you come?” Katsuki exhales, relief flooding through him and he nearly drops the phone as his muscles relax.
“Yeah, I’ll come. Did he ask for me?” Katsuki is already making his way towards the entrance, slipping his shoes on before heading towards the infirmary.
“He did, actually,” Aizawa replies. “The quirk seems to have had some lasting effects, though we expect them to wear off in the next few days.”
“What kind of effects?” Katsuki asks, picking his pace up to a jog.
“...Physical ones,” Aizawa says with a sigh. “Which is why I suspect Midoriya asked for you, either because he trusts you not to let people give him shit or because you’re the one person who would, and it’s like ripping a bandaid off.”
Katsuki sighs, but he knows Aizawa isn’t wrong. He doesn’t exactly have the best track record of being nice to Deku, and he really hopes that Deku asked because he trusts Katsuki.
“Okay, I’m here,” Katsuki replies as he ends the call and jams his phone into his pocket. The sound of shoes slapping on the tile floor greets him just before Aizawa does.
“Thank you for being quick, I’m sure Midoriya would like to get some proper rest.” Aizawa turns and walks Katsuki back towards the room Deku is in. “It seems as though he was hit with something akin to a gender-swap quirk,” Aizawa says, and Katsuki nearly stops in his tracks. It’s only when Aizawa turns to face him that Katsuki nods and keeps moving.
“Gender-swap?” He asks, closing the small gap between them.
“It’s not immediately noticeable, but yes. He’s been excused from training until the effects wear off, but provided he’s not in any discomfort he’s expected to be in class.”
Katsuki nods and swallows hard. “Okay, yeah, I can make sure he gets back to the dorms and settled okay.”
“Good. And for the love of god, please don’t let Kaminari say anything,” he adds, opening the door and letting Katsuki into the room.
“Kacchan! Thank you for coming!” Deku says. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed dressed in loose-fitting UA-branded sweats. He looks fine, Katsuki thinks.
“‘Course nerd,” he replies, and it’s only when he stands that Katsuki can see any changes. The sweatshirt shifts as he rises to his feet, and instead of skimming over his chest and laying flat it gets caught on something, and Katsuki has to blink a few times before he realizes that it’s getting caught on Deku’s chest. His new chest. A chest that’s no longer just a chest but breasts, and the realization knocks Katsuki off his axis.
Deku catches him looking and crosses his arms over his chest, blushing. “Y-Yeah, they think it should wear off in a few days, but, uh, I guess for now I’m stuck with them.” Deku lets out a nervous laugh, and Katsuki has to force himself to think of anything else.
“Oh, just caught me off guard, it doesn’t matter, you’re still a nerd,” Katsuki says weakly. Deku seems to appreciate the effort, and he slips on his shoes as he heads towards the hallway.
“Thanks for walking me back to the dorms,” he says as they exit the infirmary. It’s taking all of Katsuki’s willpower not to stare at Deku’s chest as they walk because even with the oversized hoodie covering them Katsuki can still see them bounce. It occurs to him then that Deku likely isn’t wearing a bra, and he suddenly has another pressing issue to deal with.
“Tch, whatever. I’ll just make sure Sparky or the purple one don’t say anything stupid. No one else is really likely to care,” Katuski replies, staring at the ground.
“You’re probably right, but I think I’ve had enough teasing for a lifetime, you know?” Deku’s voice is quiet, and Katsuki knows he doesn’t mean it as a barb but it still stings.
They walk in silence until the dorm is in sight, and Katsuki diverts them to the side entrance. “Easy access to the stairs,” he explains, and opens the door for Deku, following him inside. He trails Deku going up the stairs and does his best not to stare at Deku’s ass. Katsuki doesn’t think it’s changed, but it was also so big it’s hard to tell. Not paying attention, Katsuki has to grip onto the handrail to avoid running straight into Deku after he comes to a stop on the stairs.
“No,” Deku whispers, shaking his head. He’s standing right at the door and Katsuki can already hear the voices on the other side. It sounds like Mineta and Kaminari at the very least, and that’s already more than enough reason to steer Deku towards the next flight.
“My room,” Katsuki says by way of explanation as he rounds the corner and bumps his shoulder into Deku.
“Are you sure?” Katsuki hates the way that Deku’s voice sounds uncertain.
“Yeah, you’ll be fine. You can hide out until people have gone to sleep then sneak back down.” Katsuki passes Deku on the stairs, taking the lead as they pass the third floor and head to the fourth. “Plus Cheeks is up here if you get sick of me.”
“Thank you, Kacchan!” Deku wraps his arms around Katsuki’s waist and oh, oh, those are Deku’s tits pressing against his back. The next step Katsuki takes is jerky, and Deku immediately pulls his arms away, aware of what’s just happened.
“Don’t,” Katsuki starts. “You’re fine, it’s fine, let’s just get up to my room, okay?” He doesn’t look behind him, afraid to see Deku’s face, he just keeps walking.
“Okay,” he replies quietly. Katsuki is quick to throw the door open, standing at the entrance of the stairs while Deku sneaks past him to his room. Katsuki hates that he fumbles his key as he unlocks the door, hip checking Deku inside before anyone can see. It’s only when the door is shut and locked behind them that Katsuki feels like he can relax, his shoulders slumping. When he turns around from the door he sees Deku just standing there in the middle of the room, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
“Well don’t just stand there, sit or something. I dunno.” Katsuki gestures broadly to the room, indicating the places Deku could sit.
“Right. Okay, yeah, okay,” Deku trips over his feet as he turns, and Katsuki tries incredibly hard not to stare at the way his chest moves with the motion. Deku finally settles on Katsuki’s desk chair, arguably the least comfortable place in the room to sit, but Katsuki lets it go. It’s not worth arguing over. Taking his own advice, Katsuki sits on the edge of his bed, trying to think of something to say.
“So, uh, other than the, you know, are you okay?” Katsuki cringes at his own words, but at least they broke the silence.
“Oh, yeah, no, once I got hit with the quirk I ducked out of combat because we didn’t know the effects,” Deku replies. He shifts a little bit, tugging on the sleeves of the sweatshirt.
“That’s smart. And did it work right away? Like?” It’s Katsuki’s turn to shift uncomfortably. He knows he’s asking too much but he can’t stop.
“Took a few minutes, but yeah, not too long.” A thin drop of sweat trails down Deku’s forehead, and Katsuki realizes that it’s probably way too hot in his room, in the middle of summer, for a sweatshirt.
“You can take it off, if you want,” Katsuki almost whispers. “I won’t look or anything,” he lies.
Deku sits still for a moment before nodding, his hands moving to the hem of the sweatshirt. Katsuki keeps true to his word and turns slightly so he can’t see Deku. The sweatshirt hits the ground with a soft thwop and Deku sighs.
“You can turn back around,” he says, and Katsuk isn’t sure if it’s a trick. “I mean, like, it’d be weird to have a conversation with your back, right?”
Katsuki isn’t exactly sure what they have to talk about other than the very obvious, very large elephant in the room, but he turns around anyway. Deku’s arms are crossed in front of his chest, but it doesn’t do much other than emphasize his new assets. Katsuki can feel all of the blood in his body migrate south, and it’s taking every ounce of media training that Aizawa has drilled into him not to stare.
“And, uh, do they, uh, know, um, how long,” Katsuki’s words are failing him, and he’s pretty sure he can see Deku laugh, actually laugh, at him.
“They think probably three days, but no longer than five,” he replies. “And you can look, okay, but don’t be an ass about it.”
“Oh, I don’t need to, I mean that’s not—”
“You look like you’re going to burst a blood vessel from trying not to. I appreciate the effort, but honestly, it’s just making it weirder, you know?” Deku’s arms slowly shifted to his sides, and Katsuki let his gaze lower to Deku’s chest. The shirt was still several sizes too big as the sweatshirt had been, but it clings to the new softness on Deku’s chest, arcing and cresting around the curves.
“They uh, don’t look bad,” Katsuki offers, and he immediately cringes. That wasn’t the right thing to say and he knew it, but there wasn’t much he could do at this point.
“Thanks?” Deku’s smile falters a bit, but Katsuki shakes his head.
“I mean, like, it’s weird, sure, but it’s not like they look... bad?” He winces because he can feel the hole he’s digging himself into getting deeper and he can’t stop.
“Really?” Deku’s lips quirk, and Katsuki’s relieved.
“I mean, I’ve never seen a bad pair of tits, you know? Doesn’t really matter who they’re attached to, good tits can just be good tits,” Katsuki continues, unable to stop running his mouth.
“Oh, so you’re a boob guy?” Deku’s brow furrows a little as he asks.
“Boobs, butts, chests, whatever really,” Katsuki says, feeling his face flush. “I’m not, you know, really bothered by what people have. Just, as long as they’re good people.” He shrugs hoping Deku can pick up on what he’s saying.
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense,” Deku replies. He can tell Deku wants to say more, he can practically see the question forming on his lips, but he stays quiet.
“Yeah, so, you have nice tits.” Deku laughs, and oh fuck his entire chest moves with it, and Katsuki can’t think about anything else.
“Do you, uh, want to see them?” Deku blinks as he asks, and Katsuki’s not quite sure what he means because he’s looking at them right now. “I mean, it would be a shame for no one to see them, right?”
Katsuki’s mouth is dry. Deku does have a point, it would be a shame for no one to see them. “Y-Yeah, I mean, only if you want to.”
“I wouldn’t have offered,” Deku says, hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. He peels it off slowly, Katsuki following the hard lines of Deku’s abs as the fabric shifts upwards. His heart almost stops when Deku’s shirt lifts high enough to show off the bottom of his chest, soft, supple skin growing more and more visible as Deku takes the shirt completely off.
“Oh,” Katsuki says like it's been punched out of him. That’s the only response he can think of, the only words his brain can form because Deku is sitting in front of him, arms pinned to his sides, with probably the most beautiful tits Katsuki has ever seen.
“Yeah, I know, they’re weird, right?” Deku screws his nose up, and Katsuki shakes his head vehemently.
“Not weird at all. I—” Katsuki pauses, knowing he’s going to be weird in a moment, “I think they look pretty good, actually,” he finally finishes. He takes note of the blush on Deku’s cheeks, trying to ignore the way it spreads all the way down to his chest.
“Oh, you do?” He shifts, and the slight jiggle catches Katsuki’s attention.
“Yeah. I mean, well, I’ve seen a lot of boobs before.” He’s only partially lying; the ones he’s seen have been on the internet and not in front of him. “Yours are really nice.” His hand twitches with the need to touch, to feel.
“You really think so?” Katsuki’s heart is slamming in his throat as Deku steps towards the bed, reaching for his hand and slowly bringing it back towards his chest.
“Can I?” Katsuki asks, voice completely choked off. Deku nods, and Katsuki relishes the moment he presses into the soft flesh. Deku shivers under his touch, and Katsuki moves his hand so he can cup his breast, giving it a gentle squeeze.
There’s only a moment before Katsuki brings his other hand up, groping both breasts, and the noise Deku makes at the touch sounds downright obscene as he sits opposite of Katsuki.
“Kacchan,” he says breathlessly, jerking when Katsuki rolls one of Deku’s nipples between his fingers.
“I was right, these are really nice.” Katsuki looks up at Deku through his eyelashes before leaning forward and flicking his tongue over Deku’s nipple. Deku squirms but doesn’t push him away, and when Katsuki puts his entire mouth on Deku’s breast he wraps his arms around him, pulling him closer.
Katsuki doesn’t let on that he has little if any idea of what he’s doing. No, he simply lets his tongue lathe over Deku’s skin, teeth gently grazing his pebbled nipples. It’s only when Katsuki places his arm down on the bed to support himself and Deku leans against it that he realizes Deku’s tits aren’t the only new thing.
“Deku,” Katsuki says, breathless as he pulls away, a thin trail of spit connecting them. “Is, I mean are you—” Katsuki doesn’t know why he can’t get the words out, because he’s positive he knows exactly what the damp heat coming through Deku’s pants is.
“I— yeah, there are other changes from the quirk too,” he finally squeaks out. Katsuki has to take a breath to steady himself, pressing down on his dick to keep from cumming on the spot. “Sorry if that’s weird, I probably should have men—”
“No, don’t apologize,” Katsuki says, cutting him off. “Can I, can I see it too?” He knows he’s breathing heavy and his pupils are blown wide but he can’t keep himself from asking.
“Yeah,” Deku says, equally as breathless. He slips off the borrowed sweatpants, letting them drop to the floor, and he leans back against Katsuki’s pillows. Deku lets his legs fall open, and Katsuki is fairly certain he’s died and gone to heaven because Deku is beautiful. He’s not bashful either, and Katsuki watches as he slips an experimental finger between his folds, listening to the schlick it makes.
Katsuki can’t help the way his tongue slides over his lips like he’s dying to taste it. Deku must have seen him because he nods, and the next thing he knows his face is buried in Deku, eagerly lapping at the slick that had collected on his folds.
“Kacchan,” Deku groans, his voice completely breathless. “Please, oh, fuck, don’t stop,” he pants, his fingers tangling in Katsuki’s hair.
Katsuki has seen people do this before, but to be the one doing it? Katsuki thinks he’s doing an okay job, and if the noises Deku is making are anything to go by he thinks he’s succeeding. His tongue swirls around the sensitive nub of Deku’s clit, and one good suck is all it takes for Deku to cry out, things squeezing around Katsuki as he cums.
“Holy shit,” Katsuki says, pulling away from Deku and looking back up at him. He looks beautiful like this, fucked out, flushed, and panting, but Katsuki thinks he would look beautiful in any form.
“Ah, Kacchan, let me,” Deku pants out, reaching for Katsuki. It takes Katsuki a moment to put together what Deku’s saying, but he shakes his head.
“I, uh, already did,” Katsuki replies, looking down at his jeans.
“Oh. OH,” Deku says, fighting off a giggle.
“Don’t you laugh at me you nerd,” Katsuki huffs and flops down onto the bed next to Deku, pulling him down. “You’re fuckin’ hot.”
There’s a minute of quiet before Deku finally replies. “Just like this?” Katsuki can hear the implication in his voice, and he rolls his eyes.
“Like whatever,” he grunts, waving his hand. “Really don’t care,” he adds, hoping Deku gets the point.
“Really?” Deku’s staring at him and Katsuki sighs.
“Really. Give me a second.” Katsuki undoes the button on and jeans and slips out of them, pausing for a moment before deciding to take his boxers off as well. They’re gross and Deku’s already naked, so it’s not that weird. Or, at least that’s what he tells himself when he curls up next to Deku.
“Kacchan?” Deku looks down at him, and Katsuki seizes the opportunity to tug him under the covers.
“You’re already here and it’s already late, just stay the night,” he mumbles, reaching around for something to throw at the light switch.
“If that’s okay,” Deku says, and when is he going to learn that it’s more than okay?
“I want you to,” Katsuki finally says, and he can see Deku’s expression shift.
“I’d like that, then,” he replies, curling up next to Katsuki. He knows he’ll have to deal with this in the morning, but for right now he’s content to have Deku safe and curled up beside him. Everything else can wait.
|
“Wh--?” Billy looked back and forth between the group. Steve looked mostly peeved. And the twigy one, Mick, looked like he wanted to skin Billy alive. Meanwhile the other kids were just about falling over themselves. Dustin--the one Billy already extra hated--was about to knock down a storage bin of rainbow sprinkles off a shelf as he tired and failed to stand up straight while laughing.
Lucas was bent over clutching his own knees, giggling. And Will and--Jane?--were laughing back by the door.
“This is
serious!”
Max hissed. “We're from the future. Billy was speeding cuz we were running from the cops and the WHOOSH!”
“Wh-where you going 88 miles per hour?” Dustin asked, cackling. “
Wow
and I was actually worried.”
“The hell is wrong with you?” Steve hissed, marching up to Billy, shoving a finger to his chest. Billy looked down. Steve had big hands.
“Uh? I got thrown back through time. And that's only today's problem,” Billy looked up, cutting a sharp smile. Steve didn't reciprocate it.
“You think this is funny?” Steve said, shoving his finger harder against Billy's chest. “These kids have to deal with enough shit without idiots like you harassing them and making a joke about the whole thing. I should kick your ass right now--!”
“Oh? You think you
could
?” Billy sneered, stepping closer.
“This is a low joke, buddy.” And how this dude managed to make the word
‘buddy’
intimidating--in an
ascot
no less--Billy had no idea. “Taking that stupid movie and--”
“It’s a great movie, Steve!” Dustin interjected.
“Not the
point.”
Steve turned away from Billy, and the tension snapped. He was almost disappointed. Yes, Billy could tell when he had been about to get punched in the face, but
still.
“What movie?” Billy asked.
Steve scoffed. “
What
movie? Jesus fuckin’--where do you get off?”
“Back to the Future,” Will said.
“Yeah, did you guys
just
see it and decide to be douchebags?” Milo scoffed, then got a look on his face like he’d ingested a bug while scoffing. Little Prick.
“This isn't a joke!” Max called out, then proceeded to shove her hand into Miles’--no, no
Mike’s
face.
Mike staggered back, blinking, and rubbed a hand over his eyes at the sudden light shining at his face.
From Max's phone. Or. The flash from the camera, that is.
Max pulled her phone back towards her and Billy looked over her shoulder and huffed out a laugh at the sight of Mike's up close and pissy face on screen.
“See?” Max said, turning her phone around for the group to see. “You don't have
this
for another 30 years.”
They all clustered together squinting at it. There was a disbelieving silence for all of half a second; then--
“
Whoa!”
Dusting exclaimed as he stared Max's phone screen, his eyes shining a touch manically in the light. “That took a picture?
Just now?”
“Yup!” Max looked all smug now, pursing her lips to keep from grinning so it looked like she'd just eaten a Warhead. It wasn’t like she
invented it
. “It’s my cellphone.”
“But it takes pictures?” fun-sized asked, trying to look over Dustin’s shoulder.
“And plays music and play movies and play games,” Max listed off, going through her apps. “And all these different app..lications, like, here!” Billy watched as she opened snapchat.
“Seriously? This is how you introduce the future?” Billy said, “No, give it--”
“You have your own!” Max hissed, stretching out her arm and pushing the screen up close and personal with Dustin’s face.
“He has one
too?”
Will--possibly, there were so many, Billy couldn’t keep up--asked.
“Billy has a Samsung, take that as you will.” Max sniped. Like an ass.
“Hey!” Billy shoved her in the shoulder
“A
what?”
Lucas asked, squinting his eyes. Suddenly they were all crowding around, asking questions.
“How’s it powered?”
“Are you a spy?”
“Where are all the buttons?”
“Yeah, just one thing,” Billy asked, holding up his phone out of reach.
“What?” Bandana snapped.
“Can we
exit
the storage closet? I feel suppressed.”
⏭⏮
And that was how Billy found himself seated inside an empty, locked, nautically themed ice cream parlor.
A small cardboard sign that read
‘Closed, but boarding again soon’
in loopy, blue writing with a cartoon anchor was all that protected himself and Max from the outside world.
Which was the least wack-a-do event of his day.
He and Max sat on exhibition at one side of a booth, with five children and one possible adult staring them down from the other side.
Steve sat directly across from Billy and his step-sister, McGlary Girl and Miles bookending him. Curly-top and Captain Camo were leaning up over the top of the next booth.
Then Extra-Small had pulled up a chair at the end of the table. Billy didn’t really know how he did it, what with the chair looking like it weighed more than he did.
“So, to reiterate,” Mike said with the fake confidence of someone who’d only used the word
‘reiterate’
two times in their entire lives holding his interlocked hands out on the table in front of him like Dr. Evil. “What year do you
claim
to be from?”
“2018,” Billy said calmly.
“When did Skynet take over?” Dustin asked from over Steve’s head.
“It’s actually called Tik Tok and--”
“Billy,
shut up,”
Max hissed at him.
“Do you have replicants?” Lucas asked, leaning further over the booth dividers.
“Kardashians--”
“Billy,”
Max smacked off his Colt’s cap and he curled his lip at her.
“I’m just answering their questions,” Billy said with a shrug, leaving his hat where it fell, hoping Max would forget about it and he’d never have to wear it ever again.
“Well, since you’re being so open,” Steve started.
“Only for you, pretty boy,” Billy winked, Max kicked his leg under the table.
Steve simply gave him this look as if he couldn’t believe what his day was turning into. Which Billy didn’t understand, one had to be ready for anything if the first thing they did in the morning was put a sailor hat on.
“What, exactly, happened to you?” Steve asked, his eyebrows moving like that didn’t know what to do, because Steve’s brain didn’t know what was going on.
“It was back in Missouri, Ida or something. We were driving--”
“Racing from the cops,” Max added, sneering up at Billy.
“I was going about 80-ish, and I turned off the road
just
missing this big fence...” Billy used his hands as he spoke, it seemed to entrance the children and annoy Steve. “Racing through this dead old field and then
whoosh
we go through this portal thing, the grass is green, and gas is cheap enough to make a grown man cry.”
“It was Ionia, by the way, the town,” Max explained beside him.
“How do you know that?”
“Google maps won’t load past that spot,” Max shrugged.
“Huh,” was all Billy responded with. “So we start driving through
Ionia
, realize it’s the 80s and that
this
town has had its own disappearances, with like, the department of energy as a front. Well, back in Ionia it’s apparently Urban Development. And I can only imagine the types of horrors that are hidden within our government’s education department.”
“Those poor bears,” Max said solemnly.
“Exactly,” Billy agreed, ignoring their audience’s confused glares. “That’s about all I have for you folks, so now would be a great time for Will here to share. What year did
you
get tossed into?”
“Uh,” the Bambi-eyed kid mumbled. Will looked imploringly out at his friends. “I didn’t travel through time. I don’t think.”
“Will went to a different dimension,” Dustin said with the pride of a soccer mom hanging up a macaroni sculpture, causing everyone sitting on that side of the booth to go into a fit.
“Dustin!”
“That was our
one
trump card!”
“Oh my god.”
Max and Billy, meanwhile, shared a look. Billy looked into Max’s wide eyes and watched at she reached the exact same understanding as himself.
Will didn’t travel through time.
They were trapped.
Billy finally felt the panic start to set in, he stared at the shiny metal napkin dispenser at the edge of the table, seeing his own distorted reflection. He looked out the window at the busy mall.
Billy said, sliding down in his seat, “We’re stuck.
Seriously?
”
He pressed the the heel of his hand to his temple, just trying to breath slow for a second.
“That’s
not
true,” Steve said, so sincerely that it snapped Billy out of his funk and he just stared across the glossy, green table at the other boy. His eyes had a calming effect, it was fucking with Billy
real
bad.
“El’s
great
with doors,” Dustin chirped up, causing the quiet girl to glare at him. “What?” he squawked, holding up his hands. “You are!”
“This is
different,
though,” Michel said. “That wasn’t time.”
“Oh, no, it was just fighting some intergalactic, dimension hopping space-lord,” Dustin rolled his eyes.
“Is that like an…
Old
Doctor Who reference?” Max asked.
“Not even kind of,” Lucas said, which was ominous and frightening. “But we can totally help you!”
“Yeah,” Will sat up, smiling. And these kids might be annoying, but Will had a smile that could melt a glacier. “We’ll just drive to Ionia and--”
“
Wait,”
Steve said, holding up a hand, “There is no
just
driving to
another
state.”
“How long did it take you to get here?” Mike asked, seemingly ignoring Steve.
“About 3 hours,” Max said.
“See, Steve?” Lucas asked, gesturing towards Max. “Only--”
“Only?”
Steve squawked. “We don’t have time to--”
“It’s only
noon-ish,
Steve,” Dustin said, smacking the top of the booth his his hands. “We drive down there, El does her voodoo, drive back and it’ll only be about six. We’ll just say you bought us pizza for dinner and we forgot to call. It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s happening
now,”
Steve said, stabbing one finger dramatically at the table.
⏭⏮
“How is this actually happening,” Steve asked the no one in particular as they walked out of Star Court. He’d changed into civies, a purple t-shirt and plaid blue-grey shorts. Hair ruffled and face confused.
Needless to say, it was not a sad day in Mudville.
Unfortunately, it was made apparent that he couldn’t ride
with
Steve, because they were the two legal drivers. But still, it was going to be quite the day ahead of them.
Billy climbed into his car, the one comfort zone left when he was out of time and out of mind. The singular safe haven of worn leather and sticky automatic windows. The heavy door shut with a satisfying clunk and Billy leaned back against his seat, enjoying the silence, closing his eyes against the bright summer sun.
Fleeting thought it was.
The doors
creaked
open all at the same moment, followed by a plethora of voices that worked their way into Billy’s ears, down his skull, and chiseled at his brain stem.
“So,” Dustin--
Dustin, not Max--
said as he flopped down into the passenger seat, “I have questions.”
“Wh--” Billy sat up, spinning around to see Max and Lucas in the back of his car. “
Max,
what the hell are you doing back there?” he hissed.
“Showing Lucas Cali photos,” she smiled up at him--all sardonic and saccharine--leaning over to Lucas with her phone in hand. Lucas, for his part, stared reverently at the screen.
“So!” Dustin said, only
excessively louder
. “Hoverboards are first on the agenda, followed by our current president and next months lotto numbers.”
“Not happening,” Billy said. “I’m not about to Butterfly Effect myself out of existence.”
“Oh, that’s a good point,” Dustin nodded. The way he moved, everything on his person seemed to jostle around, from the chunky hat to his knees knocking together.
“There’s gotta be something that’s not
too big.”
“That’s what she said,” Max snickered.
“Oh
shut up,”
Billy groaned.
“You’re just mad I said it first,” Max leered before leaning over to whisper with Lucas.
“Put your seatbelt on,” Billy chided, putting on his own and starting up the car. It vroomed, like always, which was another comforting thing to Billy. His car might be worn down outside but damn if she didn’t purr. He started the aneurysm inducing task of exiting a mall parking lot.
“I don’t even think it’s illegal to not have one yet.”
“Uh, I don’t care,”
“Uh, you suck.”
“Uh, I know--”
“You can
at least
tell me if you recognize my name,” Dustin interrupted
.
Dustin had his seatbelt on at least, so Billy elected to actually pay attention to what he was saying. He had bigger problems, like the Beatle that was
totally
trying to cut him off.
“You expect me to know some random old dude out in Indiana?” BIlly raised as eyebrow.
“
No,
I wanna know if I’m famous enough for even
you
to have heard of me.”
“What are you implying?” Billy narrowed his eyes, as if he were suspicious of the upcoming stop sign and not the moron beside him.
“That you wouldn’t exactly be in the circles I excel in,” Dustin said, moving his hands as he spoke, as if to soften the blow.
“Huh, well, I must not be, because I’ve never heard of you.”
“Dustin
Henderson.
You sure? Really sure?”
“Extremely.”
“Think on it for a second.”
“And my confidence only grows.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“Why, thank you.”
Dustin sighed heavily through his lips and slumped back into his seat. “No hints? Zero?”
Billy squinted out over the road, thinking, wondering if this little nerd was worth potentially ruining the future.
Billy gave Dustin another sideways glance, taking in the dumb shirt, the cat hair on it, the
stupid
hat.
“You ever heard of Samsung?”
“No…? Maybe.”
“You will.”
Dustin’s entire face scrunched up, “That’s
it?
That’s so useless and cryptic, what even is it, I don’t get it, oh my god.”
“All will make sense in time, young padawan.”
“I’m
so
confused.”
“Oh, I
know
you guys already have Star Wars.”
“Uh, yes, it’s a cinematic masterpiece. What the hell is a padawan?”
“The seeds of a CGI disaster being lain.”
“You are an odd, odd person.”
“You’re the one in the discount Pokemon hat.”
“
What?”
Dustin smacked a hand over his face. It looked like a coping mechanism. “I’m gonna turn on the radio and end this entire conversation.”
Dustin reached forward and just
smacked
on the radio, like some
hooligan.
Billy actually gasped and he was lucky he didn’t
shriek.
“Watch the
merchandise,
kid,” Billy reached a protective hand over his poor, abused console. “This honey’s a
classic.”
“No it isn’t.”
“It is in
30 years!”
“You are so touchy.”
“Everyone from my time is.”
A silence grew between them and Billy was actually able to focus on what the radio was playing. It was Phil Collins.
“Oh my god,”
Billy groaned, quickly turning to a new station. “Why’s he
everywhere?”
“You’re just upset its not Son of Man,” Max piped up from the back.
“Hey! Tarzan was my childhood, watch it!”
“Do you know what they’re talking about?” Lucas leaned over between the front seats.
“I have a theory: they’re not from the future. They are, in fact, aliens,” Dustin explained.
“Aliens,”
Billy watched through the rearview mirror as Max held up her hands out in front of herself dramatically then giggled.
“You are such a middle schooler,” Billy shook his head at her in disappointment.
“I think you’re onto somethin’, Dustin.”
⏭⏮
The argumentative fun of the car didn’t last long, after Max had said
‘First person shooters are the best, just you wait,’
all hell had broken loose for about 45 minutes.
Something about dig-dug and Max groaning her head off and ranting about Breath of the Wild’s graphics.
Also Spiderman?
Lots about Spiderman, from both sides. Which Billy could get behind, Tom Holland was cute. If you
liked
soft hair and brown eyes. And nice shoulders. And a smile that just
dripped
boyish charm--he digressed.
Billy just ended up slumping into his seat further and further as they drove further and further from Hawkins. Occasionally Dustin would shout about some random town they passed through, and Lucas shouted map directions that didn’t make
any
sense.
“I
think
this says Elmund. It’s right on the crease so I can’t tell.”
“Then just
unfold
it.”
“It’s been folded and unfolded so many times that the intersection is barely even
there!
Dustin, where did you get this map?” Lucas complained.
“My mom, and there are probably only two intersections for the next 200 miles around here, so it’s a 50/50 chance.”
“At picking the right
intersection,”
Lucas snapped and pointed animatedly at the map to make his point more believable, not that Billy didn’t agree with him if only to disagree with Dustin. “But I have to figure out the right
turn
and I can’t find anything’s name, or can only make out half.”
“I miss Google Earth,” Max groaned. “I miss the peeved robot lady shouting recalculating at us.”
“Wait, you guys have
robot ladies!!”
Dustin shouted, the sound bounced and reverberated around the entire car, making it hard for Billy to decide if he wanted to turn the music down to heal his ears or
up
to drown the kid out.
“I
knew
you guys would have robot ladies, what are they like? Do they have rights, do they have names, are they all ladies?”
Up, he decided.
Through the rearview mirror Billy saw something truly terrifying, he saw Max
smile
all slow.
It was like looking at a ginger version of himself, and it was terrifying.
“Yeah, there are all different kinds,” Max said, slowly, intentionally. “Some of them have cool names, like Siri and Alexa.
Our
type is just called Google assistant, which is dumb and kinda creepy because you’re constantly reminded she’s like your minion. There’s another one… Billy what’s the other one called?”
“Cortana?”
“Cortana! Everyone forgets about her though, she like, hides in the corner of your house.”
Dustin was swapping between scrunching up his face and looking at Max in complete
awe.
“What do they look like?”
“Well, there are different versions, bigger ones and minis, and they’re not any of the Jetsons stuff you might be thinking of. But like, Alexa is black and she lights up with these blue lines, it’s pretty neat.”
“Oh my fucking god, Max,” Billy couldn’t help it, he started laughing. “They’re not real robots, Dustin, they’re just AIs.”
“
Just A.I.s?
Oh my god what!”
⏭⏮
After crossing out of Indiana was when everyone started to get a bit antsy.
It was as though they had run out of distracting conversations and now there was only one left.
The big one.
“So,” Billy started, turning down the radio a bit, only a bit, because David Bowie. “Your friend.”
“I have more then one,” Dustin said, it sounded rehearsed.
“The girl one, the magic Professor-X-y type,”
“How do you know so much about comics?” Lucas cut in, “You just don’t seem like the… type.”
“Well, good news for you nerds is that by the time you’re 40 your generation is
running the world
and the time of the geeks is neigh,” Billy explained, flexing his hands against the steering wheel as he spoke. “They’ve made movies about lots of superheros. It’s become mainstream and is shoved down everyone’s throats, no matter if you read comics or not. It all started with Iron Man.”
“They have been 3 different Spidermans,” Max interjected.
“What?”
“I didn’t really give a shit until they made Deadpool, but it’s alright,” Billy shrugged, “I mean? If you make Ryan Reynolds
not
hot and still manage to make a great movie? That’s fuckin’ skill.”
“Who?”
“Oh my god I
hate
this decade,” Billy groaned. “You guys don’t have
Deadpool
yet?”
“Don’t blindly hate, Billy! Remember, this is also a world pre-Twilight,” Max reminded him, reaching between the front seats to pat his shoulder.
“Oh my god
true,
and by default no 50 Shades of Gray!”
“Exactly!” Max beamed. “See? Not so bad.”
“I still feel trapped and wanna leave, though,” Billy said, looking out across the fields and… gross wilderness.
“Good, because we want you gone,” said Lucas.
“You think you’re a real charmer, don’t cha?” Billy snapped, twisting around in his seat for a moment.
“Uh can you watch the
road!”
Dustin called out. There was a lot of shouting in this car.
“Yeah, but, anyway, Telepath girl, what’s up with her?” Billy got himself back on track. These brats were so
distracting.
“She was raised in an evil government facility and can kill people with her mind,” Lucas said flatly.
“Noted, and how’s she supposed to help Max and I?”
“We can’t really
explain it,”
Dustin waved his hands as if
that
would make this apparently unexplainable thing wholly explainable. “She’s good at finding stuff with her mind. Like, seeing where people are. And maybe she can also do that with time? We’re really not sure, but we’re also your only option.”
“That sounds like very lazy writing.”
“Yes, yes it does,” Dustin nodded solemnly.
⏭⏮
Once they hit Missouri was when things got tedious. It was leaning towards nightfall and everyone was complaining about wanting to eat.
“We’re not that far now guys, how about we eat when Max and I
aren’t
fucking with the entire timeline?” Billy tried.
“I doubt you have that much of an impact,” Lucas huffed.
“You’re also excluding the possibility that your presence was already factored
into
the timeline, so you’re completing a part of history you just didn’t know you’d be a part of yet,” Dustin said.
Billy would’ve taken him entirely seriously, but the kid had just spent 20 minutes yelling at Max about joystick control sensitivity and couldn’t figure out why she was laughing. So Billy only had so much faith.
“What the hell.” Billy said those words and there was a
‘what,’
but it certainly wasn’t a question.
Dustin scoffed. “It’s called
Destiny.”
“That sounds very lame.”
“You are such a pessimist.”
“Okay. We can eat, one of you call Steve and we’ll see where to stop,” Billy said. “Or you can just, like, give me his number--”
“He doesn’t have a
cell phone,”
Lucas said, and Billy could
hear
him rolling his eyes, the prick.
“Oh wait!” Dustin said, twisting around in his seat and reaching his hands out animatedly toward Lucas. “Look in my bag I bought a radio--gimmie--!”
“Sweet!” Lucas said, then Billy heard some grunts and lots of crinkling as Lucas disappeared behind the driver's seat. “Why are there so many
pretzels?”
“Carbohydrates!” Dustin defended, still reaching out towards the backseat ala
Creation of Adam.
“It must be under
everything,”
Lucas said, Max was laughing beside him. “If you even remembered to pack it.”
“I
did
pack it,” Dustin said. “And it’s not like you remembered
yours,
dipshit.”
Billy chuckled, this whole debacle was almost like going to the zoo, seeing uber nerds in their natural habitat.
“Found it!” Lucas said, holding it up as far as the Camaro’s roof would let him, taking in a giant gasp of air as if he’d dived under water to retrieve it.
“
Told
you,” Dustin griped, quickly snatching it out of Lucas’ hands. “Now, we might have to slow down if Steve’s too far behind us so that we’re in range.”
“I have zero problem with him getting up-close and personal.”
“Not at all what I meant.”
“Doesn’t make it untrue.”
“2018 sounds like a strange time.”
“Oh it’s a doozy, people call it
Twenty-Gay-Teen,
it’s nirvana.”
“Subtracting Trump.” Max cut in, leaning between the seats.
“Obviously.”
“What?”
“Spoilers.”
“What?”
“Dustin, stop listening to him and just hope Mike remembered his radio.”
“Okay, okay, sorry for wanting to get the
ultimate edge
and learn about the future.” Dustin dramatically raspberried before holding the gigantic walkie talkie up to his face, whipping out the antenna with a
flourish.
He messed with some buttons and turned a knob, it fascinated Billy, and he had to make sure his eyes stayed on the road as static started to come out of the device.
“Come in Mike. Hello? Come in, Will, El, Steve--or, not Steve because Steve is driving. Come in preferably Mike, El, or Will, but not necessarily in that order, none of you are my favorite or anything. Actually that’s a lie, El is my favorite, over.”
There was more static.
“I think they’re too far away--”
“Hello? Over,”
came a voice that wasn’t high enough to be Mike’s.
“El!” Dustin cheered, “Awesome, tell Steve we’re gonna pull over to eat soon, over.”
There was silence broken up by tiny bits of static.
“
He asks where we eat in the middle of nowhere
,” El said. “Over.”
“Uhhhh, that’s a really good question, over,” Dustin, for whatever reason, turned to not only look at but
speak to
Billy. “Where are we eating?”
“Preferably, I’m gonna have my next meal in 2018. I don’t give a fuck what you guys are doing.”
“You’ll starve.”
“That’s a weak joke.”
“Tell that to your muscles when the rest of your body starts to eat them.”
“You are all such
freaky
children,” Billy exclaimed, looking at Dustin, a touch horrified.
“Billy,
stop!”
Max called out suddenly.
Billy, at her urgency,
slammed
on the breaks, causing Dustin to screech louder then the tires.
“Jesus CHRIST!” Dustin gasped out. Lucas groaned from the back seat. “Who let you have a license?”
“It
better
be important,” Billy said as he whipped his head around to glare at Max.
She looked like a deer in the headlights. “Uh, that’s the field,” she said, pointing to her left.
Billy turned back around. If he squinted he saw that it
did
in fact look like the field.
If only because it was, in fact, a
field.
Not too many discerning qualities there.
“Alright, out,” Billy said.
“Aren’t you gonna pull over?” Lucas asked, like a
smartass.
Billy rolled his eyes, “Yes, I am, but now I want you out
more.”
They scrambled. It was a very satisfying thing to watch. The moment Dustin shut the door, Billy made quick work of pulling off to the side.
He stepped out of the car, for the first time really looking around. It was just as back-woods as it had been hours ago when he’d left. Only now it was darker.
“THIS IS IT! TIRE MARKS!” Max called out from where she was, already halfway across the field. Dustin and Lucas were not nearly that far, but looked like they were trying to catch up.
“Get out the P.K.E. Meter!” Dustin shouted.
“Why am I trapped in this hell,” Billy muttered to himself, then looked back out at the road.
He could see Steve’s Beemer approaching. They were close, but far enough to give Billy time to stroll out into the middle of the otherwise deserted road.
In the center of his lane, Billy dramatically held out his left hand in a
‘stop’
motion.
The car came to a slow stop about five feet away from him, Billy smirked when he saw Steve’s unamused face through the windshield.
“There’s a toll, pretty boy,” Billy said with a bright smile.
He saw Steve roll his eyes.
He was so much
fun
to mess with.
Billy followed the car as it pulled off to the side, walking around so that he was right by Steve’s door before the ignition was even off.
Steve’s door clicked and Billy jumped to yank it open.
“Asshole,”
Steve snapped as he half-fell out the door, his arm getting tugged.
“Just tryna be of assistance,” Billy said sweetly. He crossed his arms over the top of the window, just looking at Steve.
Because Steve was still pretty. Because Steve was still in shorts, even if they weren’t part of the rest of the anime-y ice cream parlor ensemble.
“So this is it?” Steve asked, he rolled his shoulders back as he looked out across the field. “Doesn’t look like much.”
“Hawkins is one microscopic, vanilla dot on the map and shit hit the fan there,” Billy argued, only not in an argumentative way, just a
he was having a conversation with Steve, awesome
way.
“This is the place,” El
--Whoa holy shit there there’s El,
Billy jumped when he noticed the child suddenly standing beside him--said.
“Thanks for the confirmation,” Billy said as he watched the girl walk off with Skinny and Minnie into the field with the other children. There was Dustin jumping around with something that was making some artificial ticking sound and Lucas had an actual magnifying glass.
“I’m never going home,” Billy said resolutely. “Not if my future is in the hands of these dipshits.”
“They’re surprisingly innovative,” Steve said before walking off.
“Says you,” Billy griped, pushing himself up off the door to follow Steve.
Following Steve was a fun thing to do, that’s all Billy was gonna say on that matter.
That was a total lie, he would totally admit to staring at Steve’s ass and that being 100% the reason why following behind Steve was a
good experience.
“This place is a smorgasbord of freaky!” Dustin said, holding up what legitimately looked like an electric razor with little glowy-bits sticking out of the top.
“Yeah, and El and I were talking in the car and we have an idea,” Mike said. “We just need Max’s… phone,” he said phone like he still didn’t believe it was actually a phone. Billy figured it’d be a lot like if someone handed him a paperweight and told him that in 30 years the human race had renamed said paperweight to a ‘cat,’ so Billy felt for him.
Max quickly pulled her phone out of her pocket and handed it to El, who looked at it curiously before figuring out she could click the home button.
“It’s locked,” she said simply.
“Oh! Here,” Max snatched it back. “All it needs is my fingerprint.”
“WHAT?”
Dustin gasped. All the other boys looked equally awed. “I can’t
wait
for the future! All of you have spy gear.”
That made Billy feel a bit smug.
“Remember,” Steve said to the group at large. “We’ve gotta wrap this up or I’m a dead man.”
“Steve, we’re about to invent time travel. The bounds of time will have
zero
effect on us. We will finally know true freedom!” Dustin exclaimed, waving his little light-up electric trimmer around.
“Hop will
actual
lock me in Prison,” Steve argued, pointing at himself. “Not
you
little shits. Me. So hurry the hell up.”
El snorted out a laugh at Steve’s outburst. Then everyone watched as El tapped away at the phone screen, her face looked eery, underlit by the blue tones while the sunset was just beginning.
Her eyes closed and Billy didn’t know what was happening, but he could feel the people around him holding their breath, waiting. El’s eyebrows scrunched. Max took a step closer, but Lucas stopped her with an arm across her chest.
Then, blasting out of Max’s tiny phone speakers was
jazz
. Loud and blaring, certainly not your elevator music variety. The type of fast paced, loud stuff you’d imagine more acrobatic dancing.
Grease
type stuff, Travolta launching over cars, the whole shabang.
The entire party jumped at the sound and El make a point to scrunch her eyes further. The smallest bit of blood dripped from her nose.
The music shorted out a bit, stopping and starting repeatedly.
The phone started
ringing
and more blood trickled down from El’s nose.
It kept ringing, and ringing Billy watched as Max slipped out from around Lucas’ arm to finally reach out and tap the
Accept
button.
And the absolute worst sound that could have ever emanated from that phone came out of those shitty little speakers. The most horrid, nightmare inducing sound by a long shot.
A little girl giggling.
“Hehe..mf..heh…”
It was a haunting sound.
“Hello?” El asked, the line of blood from her nose halfway to her lip. “You’re far away--Hello?” Her head swiveled back and forth, her eyebrows crinkling into an even harsher line. “Where are you? Where--?”
The laughing cut off and the jazz started up again.
The light on El’s face blinked on and off, the music got louder and quieter.
“Guys…” Will said, the biggest grimace on his face. “Is that what you saw last time?” he asked, pointing at yet another portal.
It was a few feet behind Dustin, making the distant treeline dance as it distorted the air. It hung like a vertical puddle, and made Billy’s brain hurt to look at it for too long.
“That’s the one,” Max said, sounding a bit breathless.
“Okay, cool, work done,” Steve said, clapping Billy on the shoulder. “Good job team, and by team, I mean El. Time to pack up.”
“Wait!” Dustin said. He was facing the portal, made into a silhouette by the rapidly setting sun. “You mean we’re not
going?”
“Why on
Earth
would we walk through a time portal?” Steve shouted back at him.
“To see the future!” Lucas chimed in, marching up beside Dustin. “Just for a second, Steve.”
“Yeah, we drove for
3 hours,”
Mike joined in. “Just to
not
travel through time? That’s bull.”
“You seem to be losing control of this situation, Steve,” Billy commented, causing Steve to glare at him.
“We are
not
galavanting through time. I won’t be responsible for any dumbassery through the decades!” Steve wagged his finger at the group of teens.
“Laaaaame!” Dustin whined.
All the children started to gather around the portal. Max stepped out in front of them and Billy jogged to catch up. Steve was a step behind him, shouting about ‘
Rotten kids’
but fell silent at what happened next.
The portal
moved.
It rushed forward like some curtain being yanked forward, rippling more violently. The kids screamed as it skidded towards them.
Only a few feet away the kids got swept into the portal, it all looked very Stargate when they entered, disrupting the seemingly liquid pool. It wasn’t insanely fake CGI, though. It was
too
real and Billy could admit that he screamed as it rushed forward towards him and Steve.
Lucas tripped over his own feet as he tried to run away. Dustin and Will stood frozen. Mike was yelling. El had her hand sted-fast in front of her, for reasons Billy didn’t have time to comprehend.
“Billy--!” Max screeched, but it was cut off and she disappeared.
On complete instinct, in the half a second before the portal got the two of them, Billy basically jumped at Steve, grabbing his arm and yelling “HOLY SHIT!!”
“JESUS FUCKING--!” Steve clutched back at him and then it--
“CHRIST!” Steve shouted, his free arm grabbing Billy’s chest, meanwhile, Billy was twisted up like a python around Steve’s arm, leg hiked up a bit on the other guy.
They stood there, frozen, in the morning light.
Surrounded by teenage brats.
And cows.
“Are you guys okay?” Max asked, looking at them as if their reactions were anything beyond the average,
sane
reaction one would have in response to being
eaten
by a time portal.
There was jostling and mooing all around them. Besides idle chatter, everyone was very still. Because there were cows who were
just
as confused as they were.
“
No,”
Steve said, letting go of Billy’s shirt. He’d actually stretched it a bit, he’d been holding on so tight. “This was
not
the plan. Creepy child laughter and moving time portals was
not the plan.”
“There weren’t cows here in 2018,” Billy said, slowly letting go of Steve’s arm. “This isn’t 2018.”
“OH no,” Steve said. “This isn’t your time? This is just some
random
time period? What the
hell--”
“This is AWESOME!” Dustin shouted, which freaked out some of the cows. One jostled its head around. “Oh, oh no, good, good gigantic doggy. That isn’t at all a doggy.”
Said cow seemed miraculously calmed.
“I’m losing my mind,” Steve continued to lament. “We traveled through
time,
Hop is going to
murder me
and
no one
will find my body. Not a
soul--”
“Calm down,” El said flatly, which shut Steve up pretty quickly. “We need to think.”
“Awesome, thinking, how innovative,” Billy griped, looking out over the field.
“WHAT THE--” a distant voice suddenly come from behind Billy, the sound of a car door slamming shut “HEY! YOU KIDS!!” Billy spun his head around to see the road and the
cop car
pulled off to the side of it. Oh fuck. “HEY KIDS!! What are you doing out there!”
“Oh no,” Lucas said. “We need to run.”
“If we just talk to the nice officer--” Dustin started.
“THIS IS TRESPASSING!” the guy started yelling, and running as much as he could with the multiple spare tires he was lugging around with him.
“Oh
shit!”
Mike said and started running first.
Dodging cows and racing for the trees was
not
how he saw his day going. Especially when he didn’t even know what
year
it was.
Not stepping in cow shit turned out to be the biggest obstacle. Billy refused to let that be the cherry on this already shitty day. Legitimate shit was not the vibe he wanted in his life right now.
It was easy to lose the cop, even for Dustin, who panted and heaved and bitched the entire way to the small patch of trees at the opposite end of the field. There was a worn looking wooden fence that hadn’t been there in the 80’s and Billy didn’t remember running it over in 2018. It was an easy thing to hop over and basically fall into the trees, behind a fallen log and not giving a shit about the leaves that were
totally
in his hair.
“What the
fuck,”
Billy puffed out when Max flopped down beside him, leaning against the old, probably wet and gross log. It was covered in moss. Birds and squirrels started having a shit fit as the rest of the gang clambered into the woods.
“I don’t know,” Max said, holding a hand to her temple, her chest was heaving. “But I already hate it. We don’t have a car, and we’re
stuck
out here because of some creep-o… some…”
“Demonic Gizmo?” Lucas filled in. He was laid out on his stomach a few feet away.
“
Yes,”
Max said, raising one tired finger to point at the boy.
“Demonic
Gizmo, thank you. Wait, isn’t that just a gremlin?”
“Gremlins had more evil laughs.”
“True.”
“We need to find out what year it is,” MIke said. He was crouched behind a stump beside El, they were both creeping over the top of it to keep watch or something. There was no way that cop didn’t give up after five steps, though. None.
“Thanks, captain obvious,” Dustin grumbled. “Well, based on the car it’s obviously somewhere post-1940.”
“Could it be the future?” Will asked. Then everyone turned to look at Max and Billy.
“I’m tired, so lower your expectations more than usual,” was Billy’s only reply to their patient gazes.
“Ugh,
fine,
I’ll look,” Max theatrically groaned as she turned around to look over her fallen log, squinting out across the field. “That’s not a modern car, so it’s in
our
past at least.”
“Okay, so 1940 to…”
“That’s a 1954 Ford Customline,
”
Steve said. He was the only person who was truly upright, and he was leaning against a thinner tree, glaring at the car, his hair flopped over his eyes a bit, a tad sweaty. “Looks pretty new, and for a car that’s used for civil service, it gets beat on pretty often. So I’d say late 50’s, max.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Billy said casually, as if car talk wasn’t one of his top 5 turn-ons.
⏭⏮
After waiting for the cop to drive away, which did not take long in the slightest, the party, along with Billy and Max crept out of the trees. This time, they walked along the fence of the cow pasture out to the road. The long, barren road. The only positive point to that was the fact that it was easy to see the blip of a town further down the street.
Billy brush yet another bit of mulch off his person as they walked. It was annoying.
Ionia Missouri wasn’t much to write home about, even Billy could spot that from a mile or so away. The walk wasn’t terrible, if it weren’t for the bratty children having all these
opinions
and constantly
sharing them.
“So we need to lay low,” Steve explained to the group at they walked. He was out in front, Billy beside him--if only for the sake of being beside Steve, with the kids trailing like ducks behind them.
Or, except for Max, who’d occasionally walk out
into
the road like some vagabond before scurrying back.
“No… talking to anyone, we just need to sit down and
think,”
Steve continued.
“De-stress,” Billy agreed. “Take a breather.”
“
Exactly,”
Steve said, sagging a bit with emotion, running a hand through his hair. He was so pretty, what the hell. Why’d he have to be 40 in 2018?
Maybe he aged well, Billy started to muse,
Just go a little gray, he’d still be tall, vain enough to stay in shape--
Billy needed to fucking stop with whatever was going through his brain.
Steve would probably get married and have kids
long
before 2018.
And maybe have an ‘Oh shit I’m gay’ mid life crisis,
Billy’s brain whispered. Like a dick. Because Billy was thinking with his dick, so that made sense. He needed to stop doing that, pronto.
“We should know what exact year it is,” Dustin said. “That would help.”
“So step 1, find a calendar,” Max said from where she was kicking rocks into the road like a heathen. Lucas was kicking rocks with her, the idiocy was spreading.
Billy had to physically stop himself from nudging the especially large piece of gravel at his feet as he walked. It took great willpower, he was almost proud of himself.
“There’s gotta be a drug store up there,” Billy said. “We hop in, buy 2 cent milkshakes or whatever the fuck, then Miss Mental-whatever calls back the creepy child who put us here.”
“Is my phone still working?” Max asked El. El’s eyes widened in remembrance as she reached for the phone in the pocket of her baggy jeans.
“Yes,” she mumbled as she clicked it on, then handed it back to Max.
“Oh
no,”
Max said, suddenly walking faster, past Billy and Steve.
“What?”
“I have 23%,” she said, glaring at Billy over her shoulder.
“Oh
no,”
Billy said, jogging for a second to catch up. “We’ve gotta hope there’s a spare outlet somewhere, please tell me you have a charger.”
Max then went through the tribal, bend every part of your body and twist in random directions--
find your charger
dance.
“Yes!” She pulled it out of her kangaroo pocket, Billy wanted to kiss that stupid white cord.
“What are they doing?” Lucas fake whispered behind them.
“Some strange ritual?” Will responded. Then they all giggled.
Billy whipped his head over his shoulder to glare at them, but it was half hearted, because there was Steve. Smiling.
Well, shit.
⏭⏮
There was, indeed, a drugstore in town. And a gas station, and a hardware store, and a town hall.
And that was
it.
Nothing else other than some spread out houses. It looked as if there were only 12 people in the entire town. Which Billy wouldn’t doubt for a second if it was true.
A bell chimed when Steve pushed the door to the Drug Store--
Danny’s Pharmacy
it was called--and all the kids lined up along the counter.
This time, because they weren’t being interrogated, Billy made sure to slide up next to McMullet at the counter.
Together, the group almost took up the entire counter. Billy stuck on the end, with Steve then going on from Dustin, Lucas, Max, Will, El, then Mike.
He didn’t really mind anything. Afterall, he was sitting next to Steve.
Billy looked up at the chalkboard menu and promptly choked on his own spit. Milkshakes were
actually
10 cents! No joke! Man, o
man
was inflation a bitch. Billy watched as Steve’s eyes bugged out too.
“I think I love this place,” Steve said, pulling out his wallet. “I bet Camels are a steal, too.”
“You’d cry if you saw what they cost in 2018,” Billy remarked.
Steve chuckled. “I’ll bet. What else would surprise me about your time?”
“It’s yours too, eventually,” Billy turned in his seat, resting his feet on Steve’s foot rest. “You won’t be dead by then, still have some years left in you.”
Steve only shrugged.
“There are some surprising things, though. I heard the 90’s were a lot of fun,” Billy commented, “You’ll get to live through a tech revolution and watch the world get swallowed by FaceBook.”
“FaceBook?” Steve curled his lip up at that, “What kind of a name is that?”
“One that holds an infinite amount of power by the mid-2000s.”
“That’s terrifying.”
“Do we have any more wars? Like, big ones?” Steve asked.
Billy paused before he answered. Joking about social media (no matter how genuinely powerful) was one thing, but this was another. One that had to come with lots of traumatic backstory, and this was getting far too deep too fast what the fuck--
“HI!”
Billy jumped out of his
damn skin
when someone shouted behind him in a far too perky and welcoming manner.
Billy swiveled in his seat, wide-eyed to see what was, by far, the nerdiest human being he’d ever seen.
He was tall in a gangly way, easily had a few inches on Billy. He had a mop of curly dark hair on his head and wire-framed coke bottle glasses taking up most of his face. In a short-sleeved blue button down and tweed pants that just
kept
going up it was a lot to take in. He also had a notepad in hand and a clump of pens in his shirt pocket.
“Hi, I’m Murray,” he said, making himself at home and leaning on the counter, on the business side of the counter.
“Do you… work here?” Billy asked slowly.
“No,” this Murray said, “But you’ll still wanna talk to me,” he grinned, this big, toothy smile. “You and your buddies were running around Barrett's cow pasture earlier, right?” he leaned forward, as if that was supposed to be a secret, and dramatically
smacked
his notepad down onto the countertop.
“Where
is
the person who works here?” Steve asked, leaning back away from this strange guy. Or kid, even. He didn’t look more then 16.
“On break,” Murray said, which wasn’t ominous at all. “So, you got caught by one of the patrols, huh?” he continued.
Billy nodded. Meanwhile Steve, who apparently had his brain switched on asked, “There are patrols on a
cow
pasture?”
Murray cocked an eyebrow at Steve as if he were an idiot. Which, rude, Steve was a pretty idiot, credit where it was due.
“The disappearances,” Murray said slowly, which seemed to ruffle Steve’s feathers.
“Disappearances?” Billy leaned forward, resting his elbow on the counter. Now,
that
was intriguing. Maybe there was method in this time-travel madness.
“The
cows,”
Murray rolled his eyes at them.
Never mind.
“The cows.” Billy said flatly. “I’m sorry, where’s someone who can get me a 20 cent burger?”
“I
know
you’re interested, because I saw you high-tail it outta that pasture,” Murray seemed to be getting annoyed now. “I haven’t been able to slip in there yet in daylight, but I just
know
there’s something bizarre happening.”
“They’re… cows,” Steve said slowly. “Maybe they ran away.”
“Now here’s the
thing
,” Murray said adamantly, pushing his glasses up his nose, “This is the
eighth
cow to go missing. One, sounds like a prank. Two? Dumb luck. But once you get past
five
and the cops are thinking it’s some seedy beef-trafficking ring.”
Billy nodded, as if he knew what this guy was talking about.
“Now,” Murray flipped open his notepad, uncapping a pen with his teeth, before popping it out of his mouth. “See anything
strange
in that field?”
|
Blood dripped onto the ground, the steady plop, plop the only sound to break the silence. The moon shone overhead, the only witness to Techno’s death-stained vigil.
Techno was seated on the ground, staring with dull eyes at the ravaged carcass of a boar. Gore coated the ground, macabre wetness reflecting the moonlight less and less as the blood dried. Techno stared at his hands and could only conjure a sort of muted horror as he rubbed rust-colored flakes off his palms, out from between his fingers, from under his nails.
The voices were humming in pleased contentment. For as much as Techno hated having to end the poor animal’s life, especially in so brutal a fashion, the relief was immense. They’d been antsy ever since Ba Sing Se, constantly reminding him of the sacrifice he’d promised during the fight with Ranboo. It had taken a few days, but he’d gotten here, alone under the stars and surrounded by blood.
It was becoming a familiar scene. Techno doubted that was going to change at any point in the future. These outings had somehow become routine, a relatively easy way of managing the bloodthirstiness of the spirit that had attached itself to him like a parasite.
In return, Techno retained control not just during battle, but also in times of normalcy. He gained the strength and skill of the spirit, while having a clear head. It wasn’t without its issues, and Techno still couldn’t say he was pleased with the voices that had made a permanent home in his head, but it was a coexistence that was slowly becoming more comfortable.
Still, on nights like these, he couldn’t help but feel the tight hand of regret squeezing his heart.
He had always connected better with animals than people. He’d had a dog when he was very young. A deer dog from the Earth Kingdom. It had been a close companion, had offered him trust and love without condition or regret. Quackity had killed it after he’d tripped over it in the yard - had cut off its antlers and waved them around like a trophy.
He traced one of the tusks of the boar. A painful sort of acceptance coiled in his chest.
“Thank you.” He whispered. He let the tusk fall to the ground and stood, collecting his cloak off of a nearby tree and swinging it around his shoulders. The voices buzzed in confusion, unable to understand his grief.
Someday, he swore to himself, someday he would find a different way of dealing with the voices. One that didn’t require the slaughter of innocent creatures.
He turned his back on the scene, striding toward the camp with measured steps. Phil was on watch, and gave him a small nod as he emerged from the trees. He slipped silently into his tent, curling up on his side as he stared at nothing.
Even though the voices were quiet, he didn’t get much sleep for the remainder of the night.
It was a few days of travel before they reached the Earth Kingdom’s shores. They moved as fast as they could, trying to outpace the Dai Li that were certainly chasing them. Tubbo or Ranboo usually rode on the shirshu, along with Michael. Everyone else walked, heading west toward the Fire Nation.
Niki was understandably wary of the Earth Kingdom family. Techno caught her staring at Michael on more than one occasion with an expression that said she wasn’t sure whether to protect him and never let him go or slit his throat. The boy was both an asset and a liability - someone that could be of great use to the Fire Nation in the future, but right now was extremely dangerous.
“What’s going on in the Fire Nation that has you so determined to take back the throne?” Techno asked. He was walking side by side with Niki, ahead of everybody else.
Niki sighed. Exhaustion settled over her like a shroud.
“I wasn’t going to. Not at first.”
“Really?” Techno asked, tilting his head. It wasn’t out of the question that she was telling the truth. But he could still recall with vivid clarity the jealousy that would color her eyes whenever she was with Quackity, the mutual hatred and bitterness that had haunted the entirety of their relationship.
“I wasn’t,” Niki said, and despite his skepticism, Techno didn’t see any dishonesty there. “The only thing I’ve ever wanted is for our people to be happy, Techno. For our nation to prosper. For there to be peace. With father on the throne, with Quackity as the crown prince - I didn’t see that in our future.”
Techno sighed. It wasn’t that he disagreed, necessarily. But he knew Niki, he knew how long she’d wanted the throne.
“Dream was good, at first.” Niki said. “He stopped the war. He recalled our soldiers, made peace with the Earth Kingdom and Air Nomads. I thought…” Niki closed her eyes, trailing off. “I thought maybe he would be good. I thought maybe, just maybe, he could do things right. He could be good, he could bring glory back to the Fire Nation.” She turned to look at Techno, eyes dark and serious. “Had that been the case, I would not be interfering now.”
“What changed?” Techno asked slowly, dread building in his gut. Dream had always been fierce, stubborn to a fault and scarily capable despite his blindness. As much as Techno wanted to believe Dream would have done the right thing, that he wouldn’t have given in to the corruption power often brought - he could see it, somehow. If Dream got set on the wrong path, it could be near-impossible to steer him back in the right direction.
“He started hurting our people.” Niki said. Her voice was fire, anger blazing hot in her eyes. “When you escaped, people thought it was a sign from the spirits that Dream’s reign was cursed. They started lashing out against him, speaking out in support of the old Fire Lord, of our family.” Niki took a shuddering breath. “They were our citizens. Innocent, peaceful. They weren’t soldiers, they didn’t know how to fight.”
Techno’s stomach dropped.
“What happened?” He asked, voice pained. Niki turned to face him, voice harsh and unforgiving.
“He killed them, Techno. He was losing control, so he turned our army on our own people.” Techno’s breath hitched. “Like I said, they didn’t know how to fight. It wasn’t a battle, Techno, it was a massacre.”
blood blood
kill Dream
kill them all
slaughter the traitors
blood
defend your nation
Techno’s jaw clicked shut.
“After that, things only got worse.” Niki murmured. “The people opposing him went underground. Some of them fled as refugees. Some of them decided it wasn’t worth it, and switched to helping Dream. Some of them decided to stay and keep their beliefs quiet. Others-” She turned to Techno, eyes gleaming “-sought me out.”
“And you decided to build a revolution.” Techno finished. Niki nodded.
“People are calling for change. They want us back, Techno. They think our family is spirits-blessed, that the coup was wrong.”
Something in Techno’s throat tightened. With Niki, it was hard to tell where her desire for righteousness ended and craving for power began. Both were present, certainly, but they were so closely interwoven they were nigh indistinguishable. Right now, her eyes were alight with burning desire, and she stood tall with the unwavering confidence of someone who believed themselves to be right.
Unlike Quackity or their father, she had always taken the time to justify her actions, but was it genuine reasoning or just excuses? With Niki, it had always been impossible to tell.
Techno exhaled sharply. He tossed a glance at the shirshu - Ranboo was riding right now, Michael hugged tight against his chest. Tommy and Tubbo were plodding along next to each other, and both looked exhausted. They were just boys. They didn’t deserve to be dragged into this war.
Techno looked down at his hands. Red scar tissue glared back up at him, bright and ugly. The burn scars on Tubbo and Michael were faded, years between them and their injuries. Techno’s were still fresh - healed, yes, but not forgotten. Never forgotten.
“I’ll think about it.” He told Niki quietly. Her mouth tightened.
“What do I need to do to get you to say yes?”
“First,” Techno decided. “They have to be kept safe.” He gestured to the group walking behind them. “All of them. That is my first priority, and if that is ever compromised, I will leave.” He met Niki’s eyes. She was surprised, some unknown emotion in her gaze as she regarded him. It somehow managed to be both condescending and jealous, the look of someone who knew exactly how dangerous it was to get attached and craved it anyway.
For the first time in his life, Techno had something substantial to fight for. People he loved, people who cared about him and who he cared about in return. He was done sacrificing that for war, for honor.
A strange sort of not-quite-pity rose up in his chest at the realization. Because Niki- she didn’t have that. She was still with the Fire Nation, still fighting for a regime that had fallen. She was the only person he’d had, back when he was young, but- the converse was true, too.
Now Techno had people. And she didn’t. She was still fighting the same empty war - it wasn’t without purpose, but it was without feeling, without any of the little moments of joy Techno had come to treasure in his week with Phil.
“That can be arranged.” Niki said simply. “Anything else?”
Techno hesitated. “Once we get to your camp, I want a few days to myself. I want to go to the Fire Nation and assess the situation on my own, and then decide what I want to do from there.”
Niki’s eyes flashed. “No. That’s dangerous and stupid. If you get caught, you could give all of us away.”
“And if I don’t go,” Techno countered, “I have only your word to go off of for what’s happening in the Fire Nation. I have to go in blind, without any intel of my own.”
Niki stopped. Techno paused as well, turning to face her with a puzzled frown. There was something odd in her expression, something that seemed hurt and confused and angry and torn all at once.
“Don’t you trust me?” She asked, and there was something raw in the question, so genuine that it was painful.
“I love you,” Techno whispered, and his heart ached because it was true.
He loved her. Niki, who cared about him more than anyone else. Niki, who could see him as more than just a tool, more than a weapon to be brandished at their enemies, without any regard for his own safety. Niki, who trained with him, who would sneak him extra desserts from the kitchen, who would ask about his health and his life and him.
Niki, who had tried to poison Quackity, even though there was a chance Techno would be eating the same food.
Niki, who always kept her room locked, who never let anyone in even if it was just him pounding on the door begging for company.
Niki, who had always scolded him harshly if he pushed back against Fire Nation culture, who thought that everyone would be willing to die in service to their nation because it was what she would do.
Niki, who had rode halfway across the world on the back of a shirshu, infiltrated Ba Sing Se just to find him, and the first words out of her mouth had been a plea for him to fight. To be a weapon, to wield himself for her revolution. Who - if he wasn’t as useful as he was, wasn’t as utterly devastating in battle - almost certainly wouldn’t have looked for him at all.
“I love you.” He said again, heart clenching in his chest. “But I don’t trust you.”
Niki’s throat bobbed. She looked away from him, blinking rapidly.
“I see.” Her voice was measured, even. “In that case, a visit to the Fire Nation can be arranged.”
She strode ahead, abruptly moving to the head of the group. Techno swallowed, forcing his legs to move again. He slipped silently over to Phil, easily falling into a rhythm at his side.
The encampment for the revolution was much larger than Techno had expected.
Revolution could mean many things. Techno had been anticipating a small group of extremists, fifty to a hundred strong at the maximum.
Instead, Techno could see at least a few hundred tents sprawled out across a field, with more dotting the edges of his vision. There were people moving between them, a bustle of activity.
“Not all of them are soldiers.” Niki murmured, as if she could read his thoughts. “Quite a few are just refugees. Civilians, children. They wanted to escape, not fight.”
Techno nodded his acknowledgement. They descended into the valley, slowly taking in the sight of the camp.
Niki assigned them a set of tents near hers. There was a group of larger tents belonging to herself and the various commanders - Techno was surprised to see a few familiar faces, people he recognized from the palace, or from the army during the war. They beamed when they saw him, eyes lighting up in delight. For some, their happiness was genuine. But for others, Techno could see the gleam of desire in dark eyes, a budding cruelty that came from using others to achieve your own ends. It was an arrogant confidence Techno was all too familiar with.
As his father would say - he was a Blade to cut their way to victory. With him on their side, who wouldn’t be confident?
Techno shuddered in disgust, stepping a bit closer to Phil.
It didn’t take long for Tubbo, Ranboo, and Michael to get settled. They got their own tent, and Ranboo and Tubbo both looked grateful to not be travelling anymore. Michael was fearful at first, but quickly grew curious about his new surroundings and darted off into the camp, exercising his newfound freedom. Techno saw a frantic Ranboo sprinting after him not two minutes later, yanking his son away from the cooking pots.
Techno pulled Phil off to the side. Niki had been drawn away, numerous people demanding her attention, and Tommy and Wilbur were off finding tents of their own.
“I want to go to the Fire Nation.” He said grimly. “I want to see it for myself.”
Phil frowned. “Are you sure that’s smart, mate?”
“I’ve thought about it. I know the area, and I need…” He rocked back on his heels. “I need to see what Dream has done. I know what Niki said, but she… she doesn’t…”
“You want to make sure that this is worth fighting for.” Phil said quietly. Techno nodded.
He’d spent so much of his life fighting other people’s battles. Just this once, he didn’t want to march in blind, wanted to have a say in what would happen.
Just this once, he didn’t want to be used. Not without knowing.
“Will you come with me?” Techno asked. Phil’s eyes widened slightly.
“Of course. When did you want to leave?”
“Tonight, if possible.”
Phil pursed his lips. “I’ll make sure Wilbur and Tommy get settled in, and we can leave at dusk. Sound good?” Techno nodded. Phil turned, about to walk off, when he hesitated.
“Is this something that Niki knows about?” He asked carefully. Techno hummed.
“I’ll leave her a note.”
Phil nodded in understanding, steps light as he made his way over to the boys.
Techno knew exactly where they were going. Whether it had been chance or fate, he wasn’t certain, but he recognized this path - and the voices did, too.
Niki’s base of operations was on the Northern side of the Earth Kingdom, close to the coast. Close to the Fire Nation. It was somewhere Techno had been before.
A small town peeked over the horizon. The streets were faintly lit by flickering torchlight, and ships bobbed in a harbor on gentle waves.
There were more soldiers here than when Techno had last visited, but they were easy enough to avoid, eyes heavy-lidded as they swept the streets, made lazy by the lateness of the night.
The main difference was the population. Techno could see people sleeping on the streets, Fire Nation clothing torn and dirtied. Tents had sprung up on the outskirts of town, and several vendor’s stalls sat empty, their wares completely sold out, unable to keep up with the sudden influx of people the small town had received.
Refugees.
Techno’s stomach tightened. These were his people - fleeing from their nation. Their home.
He and Phil made their way down to the harbor, silent as shadows and just as invisible. Techno immediately recognized the ship he was looking for.
There was no one on deck, but lights glowed from within the cabin. Techno strode over to the door without hesitation, rapping sharply on the wood before pushing it open.
Phil hovered behind him, mouth tight and eyes wary. The sound of voices died abruptly as the room was revealed.
Captain Puffy was seated at her desk. Papers were strewn across it - maps, schedules, star charts - and her son was seated behind her on a barrel, legs swinging above the floor. A few crew members were in the cabin as well. Techno recognized a few of them from his short journey on their ship, wind-torn faces and salty hair just as he remembered.
Puffy’s eyes met his, and they were hard and tired, recognition gleaming like the blade of a knife.
“Rasu,” she hissed, and her tone was mocking, angry. She jerked open one of the drawers in her desk, pulling out a rolled-up poster. She flattened it out on the desk, and Techno found his own face staring back up at his. The word wanted was inked below it in an incriminating font, along with a sum that made even Techno’s eyes widen slightly. His gaze slid down a bit further - dead or alive was penned at the bottom.
Puffy had dark circles beneath her eyes. Perhaps Techno was just imagining it, but- her hair seemed a bit more gray, eyes a bit more dull and harrowed, more creases in her face. Even Foolish was uncharacteristically silent, mouth tight in a sullen frown, staring at Techno with accusatory eyes.
“I’m sorry for tricking you,” He murmured, and the anger in Puffy’s eyes only grew.
“You think that’s why I’m angry!?” She stood up, slamming her hands down on the desk. Techno swallowed, refusing to flinch in face of her fury.
“Do you have any idea what my life has become? How many people are trying to flee, trying to escape from the Fire Nation?” Puffy was trembling, legs unsteady on the rocking ship. “My ship is a ferry. My crew are exhausted, and every trip we make, there’s just more people. I can’t take them all, I’ve tried, but I can’t and there’s only more Fire Nation ships.”
“There’s nothing I can do about that.” Techno breathed. “The last time I was there, Dream nearly killed me-”
“Your people are being killed!” Puffy was shaking, and- she was exhausted, wasn’t she? Had he done this, by not coming back? But with Phil, with Tommy and Wilbur - the thought to come back had hardly crossed his mind, memories of harsh words and undeserved blows and being used pushing him back, away from his- his nation, wasn’t it? It was his now, at least partially, his responsibility, his duty, this was his whole point his whole job was to defend it and he failed, he had broken so badly that he couldn’t put himself together couldn’t save his family couldn’t protect his sister couldn’t see the traitors that had been hiding among their ranks for years-
“Techno?”
Techno jumped at Phil’s hand on his shoulder, the touch feeling strangely foreign on his skin. His breath was coming in harsh pants, emotion swirling in his chest.
“I’m sorry.” His voice sounded cracked and broken as he struggled to meet Puffy’s gaze. Her brows seemed to soften, concern undermining her previous anger. “I’m sorry.” He whispered again, shoulders curling inward. Phil wrapped an arm around him in support.
“Prince Technoblade.” Puffy murmured. Her shoulders slumped, the last of her anger draining into the sea. “I’m sorry, too. That was unwarranted. I…” Her eyebrows twitched. “It’s been hard. I suppose I saw you as arrogant, having the power to change things but choosing not to.” She took a deep breath, looking him in the eyes.
“I apologize for my outburst. It’s late, I’m tired, and…” She swallowed, closing her eyes. “Why are you here?” She asked softly. There was a fragile quality to her voice, like she was about to shatter at any moment.
“I need a ride to the Fire Nation.” He said quietly. “Same place as last time, if you can. There and back for both of us.”
Puffy stared at him. There was some unknown emotion in her eyes.
“Why?”
Techno tilted his head, weighing his options. He wasn’t sure which side Puffy was on - wasn’t sure what she would keep quiet.
As if reading his thoughts, Puffy gestured to her crew. The people in the cabin all filed out instantly, one of them picking up Foolish and ushering the boy with them.
The door clicked behind them, and then it was just Puffy, Techno, and Phil.
Puffy sat down, folding her hands on the desk.
“Why?” She asked again, tone hard.
“Have you heard anything about the actions of Princess Nihachu?”
Puffy snorted. “Of course I have. Most haven’t, but I’ve sent quite a few in that direction. People who are desperate, willing to throw away their lives to take back their home.” Techno bit his tongue, forcing back a bitter remark at the disdain in her voice.
“I’m working with her. I’m going to investigate Dream’s wrongdoings, the military situation within the capitol, and potential routes to success for the rebellion.”
Puffy’s eyebrow flicked up. “Reconnaissance.”
“Precisely.”
Puffy sighed deeply. She closed her eyes. “It’ll be a longer trip this time, both ways. We’ll have to take a longer route to avoid Fire Nation patrols.”
“Understood.”
Puffy straightened, face hardened as her mask slipped back into place, exhaustion fading behind the image of a captain.
“We leave two hours before dawn. Be here.”
Techno nodded, turning toward the door. It was Phil’s hand on his arm that stopped him, and he glanced over to see him regarding Puffy with curiosity.
“If I may ask,” He said softly, “Why are you helping us?”
Puffy laughed. It was short and sharp, swallowed up by the thick air of the cabin.
“To stop this crisis?” She breathed, desperation flickering in her eyes. “I’d do anything.”
The voyage took two days. In retrospect, it was lucky Puffy had been at port when Techno had arrived - she was spending less and less time there nowadays, the majority of her days spent on the open sea. Her crew looked exhausted as they ran about the ship.
Puffy was right. The Fire Nation patrols were different. Many times they had to stop, anchoring behind rocks or islands, hiding the ship from the lurking navy. The tension among the crew was thick, and conversations were short and stilted on the few occasions they did happen.
It was only two days, but it felt like eternity.
The beach they moored at was the same one Puffy had dropped him off at the first time around, and yet, Techno hardly recognized it. There was an entire encampment that had been set up. Dozens of people milled about onshore, and crates of supplies were stacked near the cliffs.
Cries started to arise from the beach once people caught sight of the ship. Techno saw people sprinting out of their tents, gathering where the water met the sand.
Puffy gave the order to drop anchor. Techno, Phil, Puffy, and a few of the crew members piled into a rowboat.
By the time they were near shore, the crowd of people was so dense there wasn’t space to land. They weren’t even waiting for them to reach the sand, instead wading out into the shallow water, silver and gold pieces in dirty hands, outstretched and pleading.
Something in Techno’s gut twisted.
“Line up, one at a time!” Puffy’s voice rang out. “Line up, I want order!”
She gestured for Techno and Phil to exit the boat. They wasted no time in doing so, water filling their shoes as they splashed into the sea.
They made their way silently away from the beach. Techno led the way, the path more well-travelled than last time he’d been here.
When the capital came into view, he froze.
All the dread that had slowly been building up - seeing all the people fleeing, the struggle Puffy was facing, Niki’s insistence that something was wrong - it all boiled over at the same time.
On the outskirts of the capital was a camp. It was surrounded by a metal fence, with soldiers patrolling outside of it. Techno could see people moving around, could hear shouts and cries even as far away as they were.
“Is that a prison?” Phil asked. The horror was palpable in his voice. Techno swallowed, throat tight.
“I don’t know.” He whispered. He started to creep down the hill, Phil close behind.
The sight only got worse as they got closer. Techno could hear the crack of a whip, screams coming from within the fence. The soldiers standing guard didn’t even wince.
“This is cruel.” Phil breathed. Techno couldn’t even respond. He felt like the breath had been knocked out of him, his mind struggling to process what was in front of him, trying and failing to connect it to the great nation he had once led.
That was a prison. Those were his people being punished, tortured.
WTF
This is so wrong!
The FFFFFFFFFF
There is no justice in this, no battle, no glory
KILL THEM
Let them out!
defend your people
FREE THE PEOPLE
revolution pogggg
TF
Let’s goooooooooooooooooo
Determination, fierce and hot, settled in his chest like a stone. “Dream.” He breathed, the word imbued with some combination of horror and regret and rage.
“There are two secret entrances to the palace I want to check.” He said coldly. “If they’re still open, we can use them to lead Niki’s forces directly to Dream.”
Phil nodded. Techno took off, leading them through shadows and around ledges, traversing the paths around the city with ease. He knew these roads like the back of his hand, all his tactical knowledge of the city, once used to defend it, now weaponized against its current ruler.
The first tunnel was a door built into the side of a cliff, near-perfectly hidden by massive boulders. There were no guards - Techno and Phil were easily able to slip through. The passage it revealed was long and unblocked - a perfect entrance.
It would work.
The other one was more difficult to access. It was closer to the city, and now they had to navigate around the patrols constantly sweeping the area. There were far more guards than Techno remembered. Unless there was an active threat to the city, his father had never seen any need to keep this many soldiers on active patrol.
They managed to make it undetected, but Techno frowned as he examined the door. The other tunnel had been musty, the door difficult to move, as if no one had touched it in ages.
Here, there was a polished shine to the walls, and the door made no sound as it slid open. Techno’s eyes drifted toward the ground.
Footprints.
He swore softly, tugging Phil back out. Dream knew about this one, and had been using it. It was still accessible, but would be difficult if they wanted to pull off a stealth attack.
He glanced nervously at the sky. The horizon was dangerously light - they had to get back to the beach soon in order to catch Puffy before she left at dawn. The extra patrols had taken more time to avoid than Techno had wanted, but they had the information he needed. They just had to get out.
They were so close.
It was only once they were approaching the beach, Puffy’s ship still bobbing gently out at sea, when Techno realized they were being followed.
There weren’t many people that could tail Techno without him realizing, or maybe he was just slipping after spending so much time in the relative safety of Ba Sing Se. It didn’t change the fact that someone was tailing them.
And now they knew where the beach was.
He signaled to Phil, tilting his head toward a rock several strides back.
blood
kill them
blood
blood
Phil dipped his chin faintly. It was all the confirmation Techno needed.
With no warning, he twisted around, lunging for the boulder. The air beneath him pushed him upward, aiding his leap. He cleared the boulder easily, landing squarely on top of the person hiding behind it.
They fell to the ground with a yell of surprise. Techno pressed down on their chest, flame coating his fist as he raised it to punch their skull in-
“Techno, wait!” A voice gasped.
He froze, fire still blazing on his hand. He recognized that voice.
The details of the person below him finally began to register.
Lying on the ground, hands raised in surrender, face illuminated by the flame coating his hand - was Sapnap.
|
Adrien snickered and Marinette smacked his arm in mock annoyance.
“Why would you even say something like that? Are you trying to jinx us?!”
“This isn’t a horror movie, m’lady. What’s so bad about saying ‘what could go wrong’? Even if it was a jinx, I have my good luck charm right here.” She expected him to hold up the charm she had made for him, but instead, he grabbed her wrist and held up her hand as if presenting her to herself.
She blushed and bumped his shoulder, “You’re a dork.”
“But you love me anyway,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.
“Yeah,” she whispered, catching him off guard. “I do.”
She slouched back in her chair, staring at him while biting at her lower lip. It was clear to Adrien that she was struggling with something, but for the life of him he couldn’t tell what. Reading Marinette wasn’t quite as easy as reading her alter ego, but he was getting there. Not knowing what else to do, he reached out and gently placed his hand on top of hers. To his surprise, that made her tense up before sagging her shoulders.
“Adrien…” She raised her head to look at him. “I’m so sorry. I was so caught up in my own fears, I didn’t even think about what they would do to you.”
He flashed a weak smile at her and said soothingly, “Don’t worry about it.”
She shook her head. “No, Adrien. I can’t just brush that away - I want you to know that I’m done running. From here on out, we’re together, no matter what.” She leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. “I care about you. So, so much. I want you to know how much you mean to me.”
Adrien felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he squeaked out, “And how do you intend to do that, boss?”
The space between them was hot from their breaths as Marinette’s lips drew closer to his.
“By telling you every day how much I love you, to start with.”
He smiled against her lips, letting his doubts leave his body through the happy tears running down his face.
“That’s a good place to start.”
-----------------------
Contrary to expectations, they did manage to get enough done on their actual project to show Ms Bustier. Well, contrary to their kwamis’ expectations, at least. More than a couple times, Tikki had broken them up to keep them on task, and Plagg had thoroughly ruined the atmosphere when he decided he wanted a late afternoon cheese break.
When Adrien finally went home, he felt better than he had in a very long time. It might have sounded sappy to say, but Marinette telling him her true feelings toward him… ignited something inside. There was finally someone in his corner, someone who cared about him for him, and not just because of what he could do for them, or for a company. He felt energized, and with that energy came a burning desire to not disappoint Marinette.
He had told her that he would get the photo that his father had hidden away somewhere inside the mansion, and he had every intention of doing so. Even as the days went by and the search continued…
---------------------------
The two of them had decided to keep their relationship subtle at first, but he could tell that Alya and Nino had started to pick up on their well hidden ruse. All four of them had decided, about midway through the week, that they’d go to the park afterschool.
“Okay,” Alya said as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “What happened?”
“What do you mean?” Adrien replied as he held onto Marinette tighter.
Her eyebrow twitched and Nino chuckled. “I mean, what’s with all… this.” She gestured at Marinette leaning her head against Adrien’s shoulder and his arm wrapped around her waist. “Just a couple days ago, the two of you could barely look at each other and now you’re way close.” She leaned forward on her elbows and looked into their eyes as if she could look straight into their heads. “What. Happened?”
Adrien shared a look with Marinette, and made ‘go-ahead’ gesture.
“Oh! Um, well, there was a bit of a… misunderstanding. So we met up later to talk it out and, uh… yeah. We talked a lot and figured out that we really cared about each other so…” She trailed off, looking up at Adrien, who nodded furiously.
Alya and Nino shared a look.
“Dude, you were a total mess on Monday. That feels like a little more than a ‘misunderstanding’, my bro.”
“And you,” Alya pointed her finger at Marinette. “You went from barely keeping your cool around him-”
“Well, I am Hot Stuff.” Adrien grinned.
“Yup, you’re definitely full of hot air,” she quipped back at him as she jabbed him with her elbow.
“-to flirting like Ladybug and Chat Noir.” Alya seemed pleased at the way their eyes widened. In the ensuing silence, Alya crossed her arms and leaned back.
“Ladybug and Chat Noir don’t flirt,” Marinette finally grumbled.
“Well, they sorta do, dudes.” Nino smirked. “Even if they don’t realize it.”
Adrien leaned forward while Marinette groaned. “We’re telling the truth. Even if you don’t believe us, all that really matters is that we are together now, right?” He glanced between their two friends, who deflated.
“Yeah, I guess… But I’ll get that story out of you two eventually.” Alya took a sip of her drink. “Even if only because I’ll need it when I make my wedding speech.”
Alya laughed when the two of them began blushing furiously.
------------------------------
Adrien was sitting in his room, having just gotten off the phone with Marinette. It had been a full week since they had talked things through. So far, she’d stayed true to her word and had made sure that she told him everyday how much he meant to her. It wasn’t something he ever really got used to, and each time his pulse raced like it was the first time. He felt beyond fortune that she’d fallen in love with him. His fingers ran over the lucky charms that she had made for him - both sides of him. She’d done so much for him and he’d never even realized it.
Which made it all the more important to him to find that photo. Not just for their grades, but because he didn’t want to let her down on something so small. It was his house after all - how hard could it be to find something in it?
As it turns out - very difficult, especially since he was usually expected to be inside his room, working on one thing or another. It was only when he started pushing the boundaries of his cage that he realized just how small it was. Even just roaming his own home provoked suspicion. It meant that he had to leave Plagg to do most of the exploring, but that was fine. There had already been one secret safe. Maybe there were others? Adrien wouldn’t be helpful in finding them, so maybe it was for the best that his kwami search alone.
The sound of the mini fridge in Adrien’s room opening and closing let him know that Plagg had returned. The smile on his face vanished when he saw how Plagg’s tail was swishing back and forth in irritation as he ate a wedge of camembert.
“Something wrong?”
Plagg’s eyes flickered toward him. “I found your picture. Found something else too. Something I missed earlier.”
After it became clear that he wasn’t going to add anything else to that, Adrien stood up. “Well, can you take me to where you found it?”
“...Yeah, I can do that. Everyone is sleeping anyway, and you need to see this.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why it's here, but it can’t mean anything good. Not in the state that it's in.”
“Are you just going to dance around saying what ‘it’ is then?” Adrien said, jokingly.
Plagg glared at him, surprising Adrien. It wasn’t often that his kwami was anything other than a lazy glutton. Whatever he saw must have been super important if he was getting this serious.
“You’ll see in a minute.”
Plagg guided him along darkened corridors until they came across a room that was achingly familiar to Adrien. The air was stale, like the room had barely been touched since it was left over a year ago. His father couldn’t stand to be in there after… after she disappeared. It had been a long time since Adrien had been here. There were memories of his mom laying sick in that bed, just weeks before she was gone without a trace.
While Adrien felt his throat choke up from the long untouched memories, Plagg floated along as if all was normal. He stopped in front of a family portrait hung opposite the large double bed.
“It’s behind this. I can unlock it for you after you take down the picture.”
With hands that shook ever so slightly, he removed the painting from its place, revealing a sturdy safe. Why did his father have so many of these scattered around the house?
Wordlessly, Plagg phased through the safe. The dial spun wildly and swung open. Inside was two objects - a picture of two superheroes seated on a rooftop, legs hanging over the edge like he and Ladybug did so often. And a broach with blue gems and seafoam green feathers metal feathers.
“The peacock miraculous,” Plagg supplied as Adrien picked it up. “What is it doing here…?”
Adrien took the picture. The man had a stupid haircut and a silver domino mask, his outfit sleek and elegant - more like a suit for a fancy party than a suit of armor. He gestured with a black cane set with a purple gem, as if in the middle of telling a story. There was a flicker of familiarity in the man, but he didn’t recognize him until he saw the butterfly gem pinned at his throat - Hawkmoth!
His eyes turned to the woman, whose indigo dress shimmered even in the stillness of the photo. The same miraculous that Adrien held in his other hand was the same one that was pinned to her overcoat. She wore long gloves and wedged boots and was laughing at whatever the other person was saying, but he realized two things in rapid succession.
First, the woman was his mother. It was difficult to tell, but he could feel it deep in his bones until he felt something insubstantial break like glass until he knew without question. This woman, who wore the peacock miraculous was his mother. It wasn’t hard to piece together who the other man was after that.
The enchantment broke a second time, and Adrien was suddenly perfectly aware that his father was Hawkmoth.
“Now, kid, you need to think-”
“Plagg, claws out.”
|
Gavin stood before the doors of the airport, apprehension stirring. He’d had to leave just before the moon, that was just the way it had to be. Ryan was getting his bags out of the car. He dumped them by Gavin’s feet. It was no secret that he was unhappy about the arrangement. Michael had been briefed thoroughly on how exactly to look after Ryan, and Gavin was confident that everything would be fine. He’d return in a few weeks and they could slip back into normal routine.
Besides, Gavin wanted to get checked out in England, to see if he was firing on all cylinders as he should be. Gavin checked his phone for the time and turned to Ryan. “C’mere, Rye-Bread.” He said, holding his arm out. Ryan moved closer, tucking his head into Gavin’s neck and whining. “Oi, none of that.” Gavin said, “You’ll be fine.”“Michael’s not you.” Ryan mumbled.
Gavin tilted his chin up and kissed him soundly, stroking his cheek and taking his hand. He gave it a short squeeze and pulled away. “I’ve got to go.” He said. Ryan nodded, nibbling his bottom lip and pressing his and Gavin’s foreheads together. “Hurry back.” He said sternly. Gavin grinned and pecked his lips. “Course I will.”
With that, Gavin disappeared into the airport, and Ryan started the journey home. He had a day before the moon, and decided to spend it at home. If he was careful as a wolf he could spend the night comfortable in their bedroom or lounge. He’d just let Geoff know at work tomorrow.
Gavin landed at a ridiculous time in the morning, and booked into a hotel overnight. He’d make his way to his parents’ tomorrow, but for now he just needed to sleep. He sent a text to Ryan, letting his omega know he’d landed safely.
Guilt gnawed at his insides at the thought of his omega alone for the moon, even more so when he considered Ryan in heat. Though Gavin trusted Michael, and knew he’d be able to Skype Ryan tomorrow, and the following days. Still, the ache of his omega being so far away was not something he could easily ignore. Since Ryan had moved in they’d spent every moment together, and whilst Gavin had never seen himself as the settling type, he couldn’t imagine life without Ryan now. Even the thought of him brought a smile to his lips.
Look after him. The short text sent to Michael expressed everything that Gavin felt. Within moments he’d had reassurance that Ryan would be well looked after, and the Brit drifted off to the thought of being back home with Ryan in his arms.
~~~~~~~~~~Waking up alone was an odd experience for Gavin. He was so used to having Ryan’s hair tickling his (sizeable) nose, or the omegas warmth seeping into his body. On the rare occasion he did wake up alone, Ryan was usually in the kitchen whipping up a breakfast for them both. Since the omega and the breakfast were both absent, Gavin found hauling himself out of bed especially difficult. He could grab breakfast at his parents’, as he didn’t feel like sticking around to eat at the hotel. It would only be bulk-bought processed shit anyway.
It’d be two in the morning for Ryan. Gavin couldn’t imagine his omega staying up that late alone, so calling him would either be a waste of time or wake him up. Neither of those were desirable options.
With a heavy heart he set off, planning to visit his local GP before he saw his parents. Going after he’d arrived at theirs would only raise questions he was not content to answer. He grabbed a taxi to the nearest train station and slipped into the familiar route home. Another short taxi ride brought him to the doctors’ surgery, and he pushed open the garishly yellow door with some trepidation. He knew he was still signed on here, and hoped there’d be an appointment free.
He smiled at the receptionist, leaning his forearms on the high partition that separated them. “Gavin Free, looking for an appointment with anyone who’s available.” He said, chewing on his cheek whilst the receptionist (Karen, if her name badge was truthful) tapped away at her keyboard. “Doctor Spencer is free in half an hour, if you’re okay to wait that long.” She said, giving him a chipper smile. Gavin nodded and moved through to the waiting room.
With half an hour to kill he grabbed an out-dated magazine from the rack beside him. 10 ways to make your Alpha howl. Or so the title boasted. Gavin, curious, flicked to the page and tried not to snort. Buy Chanel’s new eau de parfum, made with omega pheromones, he’ll love spontaneously popping a knot with his beta babe! Gavin noises ensued when he read the next one. Spray your favourite perfume on his clothes. He’ll be thinking of you all day. “Yeah, and he’ll smell like a bloody ponce.” Gavin muttered to himself.
“Mr Free to room 5, please.”
Gavin got up and dumped the magazine back in the rack, feeling somewhat easier after having a jolly good laugh at the article. He walked through to room 5 and knocked before walking in. The doctor before him was obviously beta. A slightly overweight, balding, bespectacled beta at that. Gavin sat in the chair opposite and licked his bottom lip, before biting on it.
“What seems to be the problem, Mr Free?” He asked, leaning forward with his arms folded on the desk.“I - uhh - I claimed an omega, a couple of months ago and we haven’t conceived yet.” Gavin said, “His heats are regular and as strong as they should be, so I just want to check my end of things.” He finished, clearing his throat as he did.Doctor Spencer nodded, rootling in a drawer for something and presenting Gavin with a small pot and an opaque bag. “If you could fill this and drop it off, I’ll have it tested. Anything should come up there.” He said. Gavin took the two items with short nod. “Right, and when can I expect results?” He asked, “Only, I’m back in America in a few weeks.” He added, shoving the pot in his pocket with the bag. “We’ll text them to you and can fax your results over if you need to see a GP over there.” He said, standing to shake Gavin’s hand. Gavin shook it once before thanking him and leaving. He’d kept his parents waiting long enough.
~~~~~~~~~~
Gavin stayed up after everyone, the pot still in his pocket. He made his way up to his old room eventually, procrastination was no longer an option.
He laid in bed, stark bollock naked and tried to think of sexy things. Ryan. Ryan naked. Ryan naked in heat. Whining for him. Presenting for him.
Gavin took himself in hand and bit his bottom lip, thinking of his omega, of being able to fuck him. His hand started moving up and down in time with the fantasy in his head. He knew his knot wouldn’t come, there wasn’t the mingle of pheromones in the air that brought it on, or the tight wet heat of an omega to make it swell. Still, he supposed there were worse things.
His hand moved faster, thumb swiping hastily over the head. He muffled his panting with his other hand, until it was time for him to grab the pot and finish into it. He grimaced as he pressed the lid shut and sealed it in the bag. Some poor stranger was going to have to study his spunk. He almost felt sorry for them.
~~~~~~~~~~
For Ryan, the moon was barely tolerable. He’d gotten so unused to going it alone that his wolf was bored. Trouble is he was stuck in the apartment, stuck and already feeling broody. Perhaps because Gavin wasn’t around, Ryan longed for some other company, some other responsibility. His mind wandered to pups and his wolf whined quietly. He curled himself up on the bed, wishing his stomach were swollen with evidence of his and Gavin’s bond. He wished he could do his job properly as an omega and give Gavin what he wanted.
Ryan wondered how Gavin was faring under the moon in England, knowing he was six hours ahead and probably already coming out of it. Ryan huffed, curling up tighter and hoping he could just slip through his heat quietly, without much help from Michael. They should have planned, and gotten some suppressants, but both of them had been too in denial about Gavin’s departure to think on that. They wouldn’t have worked in time anyway. Ryan hunkered down for the night, closing his eyes in an effort to sleep the loneliness off.
|
Seungcheol is humming. He’s humming in Joshua’s ear, an arm wrapped around his waist. Joshua turns, letting Jeonghan continue to sleep beside him. Seungcheol’s tail joins his arm on Joshua’s body, curling around the top of his thigh.
His hand crawls up Joshua’s side, reaching up to Joshua’s face and pushing his hair away from his forehead.
“Work?” He asks, a fond tone to his voice.
“No. I took the day off to spend with you and Jeonghan and Soonyoung and Mingyu.” He says.
Seungcheol’s grin widens and he places a chaste kiss to Joshua’s lips. “Good.”
“Good.” Joshua repeats, grinning and returning the kiss with one of his own.
“Joshua?” He hears Jeonghan say, but it sounds far away, as if Jeonghan isn’t lying right beside him.
“Joshua, wake up.”
“Joshua.”
Joshua shoots up in bed. Jeonghan is grinning over him, squishing his cheeks in between his hands. Seungcheol is standing at the foot of the bed, tittering at the way Joshua looks with his cheeks squished together and his lips puffed out like a fish.
“Joshua, wake up. You have to feed us.” Jeonghan coos.
Joshua groans, batting lightly at Jeonghan’s hands but missing and hitting his face. Jeonghan hisses, but it’s accompanied by a playful giggle.
“You’re an ass. I was having a good dream.” Joshua says, his cheeks warming up a little.
“Too bad, we’re hungry.” Jeonghan says.
Joshua huffs, a burst of air that hits Jeonghan’s cheek. He grabs Jeonghan’s shoulders and pulls him down so that he’s resting on his chest. Jeonghan squeals as Joshua laughs and cuddles him to his chest.
“Hey!” Seungcheol protests. “I want in on this cuddlefest.”
He crawls onto the bed, dropping himself on top of the other two. He lays his head on Joshua’s chest, right beside Jeonghan’s, and rubs his cheek against the soft cotton of Joshua’s sleep shirt.
“Joshua?” Seungcheol starts.
Joshua hums in reply.
“We love you. So much. You know that, right?” Seungcheol says.
“Of course. What brought this on?” Joshua asks. He misses the knowing glance that Jeonghan shoots in Seungcheol’s direction.
“Well, it’s just-“ Seungcheol starts, but he’s cut off by Soonyoung shouting from the living room.
Joshua giggles. “I guess he’s hungry, too.” He says. Seungcheol groans.
-----
It’s a Saturday when Joshua finally has a long-awaited talk with Soonyoung. He sits down on the couch, forces Soonyoung to sit with him while Seungcheol and Jeonghan are taking a nap, and places a tub of fried chicken and a few cans of beer on the coffee table.
“What’s all this? A date?” Soonyoung jokes.
Joshua snorts. “We all know that my love lies with my job.” He says.
“Does it, though?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively, and Joshua’s cheeks turn pink.
“This isn’t about me.” Joshua says defensively, swatting at Soonyoung’s arm and grabbing a can from the table. “This is about you and your recently returned former lover.”
Soonyoung’s smile falters, but it never leaves. Joshua knows that he’s trying to put on a brave face, trying to pretend that he’s not as hurt as he actually is.
“It’s not a big deal.” Soonyoung says.
“You can’t pull that shit with me, Soonyoung.” Joshua scoffs. “I’m your best friend.”
Soonyoung lets out a puff of air that sounds more like a sob than anything. “He’s- I don’t know what to do. When we went out to that restaurant again, it was like nothing had changed. It felt like the last two years that I’ve spent trying to get over him just didn’t exist.” He says.
Joshua places his drink back down and takes Soonyoung’s hands in his. “Soonyoung, please. What do you want? What are you expecting to get out of spending time with him? An apology? An explanation?”
“Oh, trust me, I got those.” Soonyoung sighs. “He’s not a dick, Josh. You know him just as well as I do.”
“Yeah. I know. I just really want him to have changed. I want him to be mean or awful. I hate that he had a good reason to leave, because I can only hate him for leaving you. He didn’t do anything else wrong.” Joshua says.
Soonyoung scoots over and lays his head on Joshua’s shoulder, sighing again.
“I don’t even hate him for leaving me.” He admits.
“You should. I watched you cry for two weeks straight after he left. You shut down, Soonyoung. You almost lost your job. It was heart breaking.” Joshua says.
“That was all me. I was the one who wasn’t strong enough to handle it.”
Joshua’s heart sinks into his stomach. This is the most they’ve ever talked about Mingyu leaving, and he almost regrets it. Knowing everything that was running through Soonyoung’s head in those moments, in the months right after Mingyu left. It brings back the fire in Joshua’s gut that he felt back then, telling him to track Mingyu down and deliver his heart to Soonyoung on a silver platter.
“No. No, you don’t get to say that. You were strong enough. You are so strong. You had me, you could’ve fallen back on me and let me deal with the rent and the upkeep of the house, you could’ve let me share some of your burden and grieve with you. But you didn’t. You did it all by yourself and that’s admirable. You’re not allowed to think that you weren’t strong enough.” Joshua says.
“If I were strong enough, I wouldn’t still be willing to run back into his arms.” Soonyoung sighs.
“Wrong. If you weren’t strong enough, you wouldn’t be willing to see him at all.”
-----
“Joshua, can you come here for a second?”
Joshua drops the towel that he was using to dry the dishes. He had just finished washing the pile of dishes that had started to take over the sink. He doesn’t hesitate for a second, placing the entertainment of his hybrids over mediocre house chores, even though they’re perfectly capable of entertaining themselves and the dishes really need to be put away before they go to bed.
“What do you need me for?” He says.
Jeonghan is asleep on the couch, his face hidden in Seungcheol’s neck. Seungcheol has a hand laced Jeonghan’s hair, softly carding through the strands. He reaches in Joshua’s direction.
“Cuddles.” Is all he says.
Joshua smiles, his entire body heating up as he makes his way over to Seungcheol’s side of the couch.
“I feel like we should wake him up. He’s not going to be able to sleep later, all he’s done today is nap.” Joshua says as he delicately places himself in the space that Seungcheol’s made.
He curls up against Seungcheol’s side, swinging his legs over Seungcheol’s and tucking his feet under Jeonghan’s for warmth. Seungcheol wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him even further into his side. He drops a kiss onto the top of Joshua’s head.
“He’s tired.” Seungcheol reasons.
Joshua snorts. “He’s always tired.” He says. He tries so hard to ignore the way that Jeonghan mouths at Seungcheol’s skin in his sleep, almost mindless and desperate, like it’s become second nature to him.
“What do you think he’s dreaming about?” Joshua asks. Seungcheol seems to know what he’s talking about right away.
He looks down at Jeonghan with a smile on his face. Joshua thinks that it might just be his own brain telling him that Seungcheol’s face becomes so much softer when he’s looking at Jeonghan.
“Honestly, I’d bet you like five dollars that he’s dreaming about napping.” Seungcheol says. Joshua snorts again.
“What do you dream about, then?” Joshua says.
Seungcheol’s cheeks turn pink and a bashful smile begins to grow on his face.
“How hard would you judge me if I said I dream about playing fetch?” He says.
Joshua laughs, a light, airy laugh that makes Seungcheol’s whole body feel like it’s floating in the clouds. He leans down to nudge Joshua’s nose with his own. Joshua’s breath catches in his throat, and he thinks he should start a running tally for how many times they’ve made him feel like this.
“I wouldn’t judge you that hard.” He says. To his own ears, he sounds breathless. He’s hoping, though, that he sounds perfectly fine to Seungcheol.
“Joshua?” Seungcheol starts. Joshua hums. “How hard would you judge me if I said I dream about kissing you?”
|
Castiel lie flat on his back in the hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines, tubes, and wires that Dean didn’t dare touch. His skin was pale and bruised, and his face was scarred, cut, and bandaged, faint traces of blood still visible. His left hand was wrapped in a cast, and Dean guessed it was broken. He was breathing on his own (thank God), but he still looked so vulnerable, so weak, and Dean had to sit down on the padded chair next to the bed before he was thrown into a fit of sobs from sheer guilt.
“This…this is my fault,” Dean choked out softly; hoping upon hope that Cas could hear him, even if he couldn’t respond. “Cas, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t there for you, I didn’t, I’m sorry, so…” he trailed, inhaling deeply and covering his face with his hands. His face was soaked with tears, and Dean tried and failed to stop crying, because how could he? Cas had almost died. His soul mate had almost died.
After about twenty minutes, Dean wiped his face with a tissue from the box on Cas’s bedside table. He scooted his chair forward until he sat close enough that he could lay his head on the bed if he wanted to. Hesitantly, Dean reached for Cas’s hand, which lay, still and cold, at his side.
It suddenly struck Dean that there was no guarantee that Cas would wake up, and that he could lose him, for good. Forever.
Desperation hit Dean like a bullet train and he knew then what he would do. He wrapped both of his warm hands around Cas’s cold ones, closed his eyes tight,
and prayed.
Are you there, God? It’s me, Dean Winchester. Now I know it’s been a while, and Mom took me and Sammy to church enough times that I know not to expect a direct answer, but please, if you’re listening, hear me out.
Dean sighed, squeezing Cas’s hand for some sort of strength.
Could you just, wake Cas up? Please? He doesn’t deserve this, at all! And it’s my fault anyway and if I only picked up the damn phone then maybe… Or if I had just said yes to doing the stupid bio project –
Dean clenched his jaw and loosened his grip, tears threatening to spill once more.
He can’t die, okay? That’s all I ask. I know I don’t deserve to get anything I want on a silver platter, but, I’m beggin’ you, God, if you’re really there…save my soul mate. I was lucky enough to find him, and I can’t lose him. Not like this. He’s… he’s family. I need him. Please.
Dean let his tears fall again, head buried in the crook of his arm, hands wrapped around Cas’s frail wrist, keeping track of his weak but steady pulse. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep, only to be woken up a couple hours later by a knock at the door.
Dean cracked open his eyes and squinted in the afternoon sunlight coming through the large window on the far wall. He wiped his face with his hands, glancing up at Cas to see if anything had changed, but to Dean’s disappointment, it seemed like his prayers hadn’t been answered.
Yet.
Dean turned to see who was knocking, and was surprised to see his boss at the door, who looked even more surprised to see Dean. He soon remembered, B is Cas’s cousin, and then he realized, B doesn’t know we’re soul mates. Shit. He got up and walked toward the door to pull it open and let Balthazar inside. The older man took careful, quiet steps inside, with a sad look on his face as he glanced toward Castiel before turning back to Dean.
“Dean,” he greeted, pulling him into a short hug.
“Hey, B,” Dean replied, voice still rough with sleep.
“May I ask… what you’re doing here?” Balthazar questioned, clearly confused. “Did you meet Cassie at the shop, or –.?”
“No, no,” Dean shook his head and took a deep breath. “You remember when I asked you for dating advice?”
Balthazar raised an eyebrow. “Yes, but what does that – oh. Oh.” A small smile graced his lips. “Well then. But wait, they let you in, and you’ve clearly been here a while…so you must be his –.”
“Yeah,” Dean sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Found out a few weeks ago.”
“Castiel got his tattoo and didn’t tell me? That bastard.” Balthazar shook his head. “I can’t even tease him about it. He must have planned this all along.”
Dean could tell B was only trying to lighten the mood, so he smiled weakly, and tried not to think of Cas as halfway to dead. He remained standing by the door as Balthazar made his way closer to his younger cousin. Balthazar lay a gentle hand on Castiel’s face, mumbling things that Dean could only make out as, “who would do this to you?” and “where’s your father when you need him?”
“Do you know?” Dean asked before he could stop himself.
“Hmm?” Balthazar looked over his shoulder to Dean.
“Who would do this to him, I mean. Do you have any idea?”
“I was hoping I could ask you that,” B responded.
“Me?”
“Well, yes. You go to school with Castiel, so maybe you would know if anyone was bothering him, or making any threats.”
“No, no one was bothering him, as far as I know. Not that he would tell me, he’s so quiet in our room –.”
“Your room? You are roommates too, then?”
“Oh, right, yeah, that too.”
“Did he call you?” Balthazar turned to face Dean.
“What?”
“Cassie may be stubborn, but he’s no idiot. If he felt like he was in danger, he would have called someone. He’s paranoid like that. Not only are you his roommate, you’re his soul mate, so I’m assuming if he called anyone, it would be you, correct?”
Dean stared for a moment, slightly stunned at B’s insight on Cas. Well, he’s right.
“Yes,” Dean replied, “he called me. The sheriff department contacted me after finding my number on his phone –.”
“What did he say?” B interrupted.
“What?” Dean asked again, thoughts jumbling.
“He called you, yes? What did he say?”
“Oh, I…” Dean bit his lip and looked at the floor. “I didn’t hear him call last night; my phone was dead.”
“So he didn’t leave a voice mail or anything?”
And Dean’s head snapped up because fuck, he hadn’t even thought to check his voicemail. Fuckfuckfuck.
“I haven’t checked my phone since the sheriff called,” Dean said quickly, feeling his pockets for his phone. Finding it, he pulled it out and unlocked the screen, called his mailbox, and waited. He moved to stand by the large window across the room, using his shoulder as support as he leaned against the wall. Balthazar waited patiently next to Castiel’s bed, inspecting the cuts on his face with a heavy sigh.
Dean frowned, then took a deep breath. “You have one new voice message,” said the automated voice in his ear. He pressed 1.
The first sound he heard was a loud crack, which he assumed was the phone hitting the ground. And then Dean’s heart clenched because Cas was begging, little spurts of “please” as his fleeting attempt to get his attackers to stop. One of them yelled “Shut up!” and Dean wanted to punch a wall. Instead, he stored the voice in his memory. His blood boiled as he heard Cas being kicked repeatedly, painful grunts escaping him, as the other men laughed, fucking laughed. There was a rattling sound, and Dean heard Cas choke out a sob. A scraping sound followed, as if someone was dragging the phone along the ground. He’s reaching for the phone, Dean thought, but then Cas screamed and Dean’s stomach dropped. He heard more kicking, another pained grunt, a muffling sound, murmuring voices, more laughter, struggled breaths, and then Cas screamed again.
“Are you okay?” Dean heard Balthazar ask, but his voice seemed so far away compared to the sheer intensity of Cas’s voice in his ear. He slid down the wall until he was sitting on the linoleum floor, his legs rendered useless, because this time, not only had Cas screamed, he had screamed for Dean. He had screamed Dean’s name, and Dean had to swallow the bile rising in his throat to keep himself from vomiting.
But it wasn’t over. Dean couldn’t hear Cas anymore, but the other men were still talking, laughing. Dean closed his eyes and struggled to hear as best he could. The attackers mustn’t have realized that the phone was on, because one of them got so close, Dean could hear him breathing. Then, a voice whispered, “Sorry, little brother, but you couldn’t expect to be Dad’s favorite without a few consequences, now, could you?”
Dean froze. Little brother? What the hell? Did Cas have an older brother? Did Cas know his attackers?
“Let’s go,” the voice said, and Dean heard retreating footsteps before a soft click, and then the automated “End of new messages.”
Dean’s hand went slack and he dropped his phone. His head was spinning. Cas had an older brother. Cas had an older brother who beat him half to death. Dean hardly noticed that Balthazar had moved to crouch down in front of him, trying to call him out of his trance.
“Dean? Dean, can you hear me? Are you alright?”
“Does Cas have an older brother?” Dean asked, trying to keep his composure.
B made a shocked face, like that was the last thing he had expected Dean to say.
“Well?” Dean demanded, impatient. It was a simple question, why couldn’t he get a simple answer?
“That’s…a complicated matter,” Balthazar finally responded, helping Dean to stand.
“How is that complicated? Does he have an older brother or not?”
“Why do you ask?” B asked, sounding defensive.
Before Dean could yell at the older man, there was another knock at the door, and Anna and another boy walked in. Dean assumed he was Gabriel.
Anna ran straight to Castiel’s bedside, tears streaming down her face and smearing her makeup. She stopped short before touching Cas’s still frame, and then collapsed onto him, her head resting on his chest, mouth moving in a mantra of “No, no no no,” and Dean didn’t know if he should try to comfort her or look away. This is my fault.
“Balthy,” Gabriel greeted B with a hug. “What happened?”
“I’m not sure,” Balthazar answered, and then looked over to Dean, who hadn’t moved. “But Dean might have an idea.”
“So, you’re Dean,” Gabriel walked toward him, hand outstretched.
“Uh, yeah. You must be Gabriel?” Dean took his hand and shook it.
“Call me Gabe. I wish we were meeting under…better circumstances. I’d make a joke and charm you right over.”
“How can you flirt at a time like this?” scolded Anna, still clinging to her brother. “Besides, if Dean was allowed in here, it’s because they’re soul mates, so you’re wasting your time.”
Gabe raised a brow at Dean. “That true?”
“Yeah,” Dean responded, wringing his hands together. He still didn’t have an answer to his question, and he was growing anxious. He knew this wasn’t the best time to ask, but he needed to get some answers – he needed to know who Cas’s attackers were.
“He left me a voice mail,” Dean said aloud, and three heads turned to look at him. “Cas, he called me right before –.” Dean took a breath. This is your fault thisisyourfault – man up. “One of his attackers called him ‘little brother’, but Cas never mentioned an older brother.”
Gabe and Anna exchanged looks before they both glanced at Balthazar, who was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shit,” he murmured, “Lucifer.”
“We’re not supposed to talk about him,” said Anna, keeping her eyes on Castiel’s beaten face, her fingers lightly tracing the scars. “I didn’t know him well; I was so young when he left –.”
“Dad kicked him out,” Gabe cut in, heated. “Luci didn’t just leave. Dad told him to go.”
“Only because Zachariah convinced him it was best.” Balthazar said, and that seemed to surprise Anna and Gabe. Dean was still confused.
“Wait, so Cas does have an older brother?”
“Technically, yes,” came B’s reply, “but the family disowned him. I don’t know the whole story, but Lucifer got into some big trouble with dangerous people, and Zachariah, my father, told their father that the only way to keep Castiel from turning into a rebel like his brother, as well as keep Gabe and Anna safe, was to kick Lucifer out. He was only 18.”
“I was ten,” Gabe said, looking as though he was just remembering it. “Yeah, and that same year, Uncle Zach came to stay with us,” he looked at Anna, “remember?”
“Barely,” she answered. “I just know that Dad was gone for a really long time.”
Dean shook his head. What the hell is going on? “Okay, okay, but why would this Lucifer beat his own brother to a pulp? It doesn’t make sense, I don’t –.” This is your fault, Winchester. Now fix it. Dean focused his gaze on Cas, broken, bruised, beaten – “Someone has to pay for this.”
“And they will,” B told him, “but –.”
“No,” Dean said, voice rising. “No ‘buts’, this guy is going to pay, along with the goons who helped him.”
“Dean –.” Balthazar tried, but Dean was already grabbing his keys, pocketing his phone, and walking toward the door.
“No!” he yelled this time, stunning the others. “Look, we may not be family yet, but we’re supposed to be, eventually. And regardless, if there’s one thing I learned growing up, it’s that family don’t end with blood.”
Gabe opened his mouth to speak, but Dean held his hand up. “I’m supposed to fall in love with your brother, right? But look at him! How can I fall in love with him if he never wakes up? I can’t – this… this Lucifer,” Dean spat, “did this to Cas, to our Castiel, and there is no way I’m not gonna just sit here, praying to a God I’m not even sure exists, while these criminals are runnin’ around, thinkin’ they got away with this. No way in hell.”
Dean didn’t bother sticking around to hear what the others had to say. He’d made up his mind, and there was no turning back. He left Cas’s room and briskly made his way out of the hospital with swift, angry steps. He ignored the prickling feeling of tears in his eyes, wiping them away with the back of his hand. He was going to drive to the sheriff’s office and see if the voice mail could help them find Lucifer and the other attackers. And if they couldn’t find them, well, Dean would do it himself.
When he reached the Impala, Dean yanked open the door and sat down in the driver’s seat. He jammed his keys into the ignition before peeling out of the parking lot.
I’m gonna kill ‘em,
Dean thought, as the car’s tires screeched across the pavement. With a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, Dean made it to the main road, and floored it.
I’m gonna rip their fucking lungs out.
|
Thanks to traffic Levi was late, he jogged up the steps and into the courthouse, heading straight to the room where the proceedings were taking place, he paused for moment as the security guard opened the door and then plunged into the room feeling all eyes on him the moment he did. He rushed up to Mr Smiths side"How nice of you to join us Mr Ackerman"The judge sounded annoyed and Levi stood a little straighter, Kenny's lawyer naturally had to prod"I trust you had a good reason for keeping us all waiting...""Yes, sorry your honour"Levi cast a glance to Kenny, the man was unbelievably smug as he grinned in his direction, Levi kept his uncle in the corner of his eye"Well Mr Ackerman, are you going to tell us or continue holding up proceedings"Levi took the judges chance "Last night an associate of my uncles was found murdered"Murmurs broke out throughout the room and Kenny's smile dropped a little, the judge frowned as he called for silence"Well Mr Ackerman you do lead a busy life, I was under the impression that your tardiness was in relation to your mate""It was sir, he was kidnapped"The judge frowned further. Kenny's lawyer was whispering furiously with the man and once again the judge called for silence "And was he found?"Kenny's lawyer stood"Surely this is all irrelevant to the case your honour""Not at all, it shines a light on Mr Ackerman's character. Despite all the circumstances, he made it here""He was late"The lawyer sounded like a little kid as he came back to that point"I repeat, was your mate found""Yes your honour, buried alive in a shallow grave"Levi looked to Kenny, the man had paled"Given the issues now raised, I would like to as for a day's recess"Mr Smith's voice carried over the whispers in the room, Kenny's lawyer naturally objected over the relevance. Levi had wanted to stir up trouble and that he had. Everyone in the courtroom was no doubt wondering about the connection between Levi being late and Kenny, after all he could have played it all down, but now they were left to wonder if Kenny was behind everything"The jury will be instructed to disregard Mr Ackerman's statements. We will have a brief recess while I ascertain the validity of the defendants claims"It was Levi's turn to look to Kenny smugly, he couldn't help but give the man a small wave as his lawyer lead him out. Mr Smith didn't seem as thrilled by the display as Levi was, still they left the courtroom and headed into a small private waiting room. A few minutes later Mr Smith was called to the judges chambers and Levi was left alone. It'd barely been 20 minutes since he'd walked in and now Kenny would have to know he knew. Reiner hadn't been absent and Levi couldn't help but wonder if the man was still alive. He pulled his phone from his pocket, the device was flat and he glared at in annoyance, it was probably for the best, if anything had happened to Eren... he choked on the wave of emotion that hit him. Kenny was literally a few metres away from him, but... he couldn't do anything... he could only fight for Eren with words even though his split knuckles ached to beat the ever living fuck from his uncle. Mr Smith returned, he sat across from Levi "The judge has given us 4 hours... after that the trial will proceed. I know you think Kenny was involved, so now is the time we need evidence""Then we need to see Eren. I have no idea what happened to his clothes or anything and...""That was the plan"Mr Smith cut him off before he could go there. They rose and Mr Smith lead Levi out to his car.
*The woman at hospital reception looked up Eren's room for them, she frowned apparently he wasn't allowed visitors even if it was his mate. Levi ground his teeth, allowing Mr Smith to explain that they needed to talk to his treating doctor rather than Eren himself. The woman didn't seem happy as she picked up the phone and dialled through, Levi had resist leaning over the counter as she talked, to whom he assumed to be Hanji. Finally she placed down the phone and looked up at him "She said to meet on the 9th floor"The woman looked down at her computer and Mr Smith started towards the elevator and Levi followed.
Hanji met them at the elevator, the woman looked rushed of her feet, but happy enough to see them"Levi! Aren't you supposed to be in court!?""He made quite the entry and now we're on recess until 12:30"Hanji nodded"I'm not surprised, lets go take a seat, there's some things we need to talk about before you see Eren..."Hanji sounded sad and Levi's heart sunk"Is he awake?""No, not yet, come with me and we'll talk about it"Hanji took his hand and began to lead him through to the visitors lounge, Mr Smith hovered near the doorway, Levi looked up in confusion"Aren't you coming in?""I thought you might need some privacy"Levi shook his head"It's fine, Eren will understand"Mr Smith came over and sat somewhat stiffly at the table and Hanji sighed"People can't even do there jobs properly. They didn't even look for trace evidence before cleaning him down last night and even then they did a piss poor job"Levi growled and Hanji nodded"I gave him a full examination..."Hanji paused taking a deep breath"Levi, there was sign of sexual assault..."Levi snarled, he pushed his chair back and Hanji half stood"I'm going to fucking kill him, I don't give a fuck anymore, I've tried to do things the proper way and this is what fucking happens...""Levi, maybe you shouldn't be...""Maybe I should be what!?"His voice was a growl and Mr Smith stepped up and grabbed his arm"Maybe you shouldn't be screaming about taking things into your own hands"Hanji nodded quickly"He was buried alive! And now you say he was raped! No. How much more does he have to suffer!""Levi, stop. You're yelling again. Look, we recovered semen samples and when I checked his mouth I found hair, he fought... he fought so you need to be there when he wakes up because we all know he only fought so he could be with you"Her words disarmed him, he let out a smaller growl in frustration Mr Smith guided him back to his chair "What else?..."Hanji sighed"The drugs have cleared his system, so all we can do is wait until he wakes up, but Levi... his whole body is covered in bruising, we don't know what kind of condition he'll be in when he wakes up"Levi nodded sadly, he looked to his friend"Can I see him?""Yeah... but I'm sorry Mr Smith, I'm going to have to ask you to wait here""That's fine"Hanji lead Levi out the room and down the hall, his feet felt leaden and when they finally reached the door to Eren's room, he couldn't go in. Hanji disregarded his discomfort and pushed him inside the room"I'll give you two some time alone""Hanji... when will you get the results back?""Which ones?""Any... all? The DNA... I don't know how these things work""Ok, well we've done a basic STI panel, that came back clear, but we're still treating in just in case, the semen and hair samples are being analysed elsewhere... the other blood test results will be in in a few hours"Levi nodded and Hanji pushed him again, he stumbled through the curtain gap and Eren came into view"Can...""You can touch him... hold his hand and talk to him...""Can he hear me?""I'm sure he can...""Hanji... thank you""It's alright, now, is it alright for me to fill Mr Smith in on Eren's condition and ongoing results?""Yeah... he's supposed to be representing Eren against Reiner as it was...""Ok, if anything happens, just push the call button"He nodded and she left, once she was gone, he moved in and sat on the edge of the bed. Hanji said hand holding... but he didn't want to just hold Eren's hand. As he'd done before, he slid under the blankets and nuzzled against Eren, small tears ran silently down his face"God, I'm so fucking sorry... this is all my fault..."His hand slid onto Eren's stomach"Fuck..."He closed his eyes and breathed Eren's scent in, he'd nearly lost all this... he showered his sleeping mate with kisses and apologies until Hanji came back in, she sighed and gently reprimanded him for being on the bed, even if her heart was obviously not in it"The police are here, they're waiting in the visitors room"Levi nodded, he should have expected it. He cast Eren one last look before following Hanji from the room.
It was the same officers that had they'd talked to before over Eren's call. He felt a little sheepish as he sat, they greeted him with thin lipped smiles. It seemed they wanted to search his house in relation to Eren's disappearance, he was more than happy to give them the door codes, he hoped they'd find something... anything that could prove Kenny and Reiner were behind all this. They also asked for his recount of the previous nights activities, he did his best to keep his feelings down as he explained about first finding Bertholdt and then Eren and by the time he was done, it was time to return to the courthouse.
*Kenny was late, 5 minutes turned to 10 and then to 20. The judge was clearly not impressed and the man's lawyer scrambled to cover his clients lateness, but it was obvious he had no clue as to where Kenny was. At the half hour mark, the judge dismissed the case. Kenny's lawyer tried to ask for more time, but Mr Smith began packing his things up and Levi was left to wonder what happened next.
Mr Smith was on his phone the moment they left the room and Levi waited patiently, the man smiled and Levi's heart rose, he thanked whoever he was talking to and then turned to the alpha"So, we found Kenny... he was at your house when the police arrived and they've taken him into custody"Levi snorted"He must have been fucking desperate""That's what they're thinking, he said he was looking for you, but given everything you've told them... they didn't believe him for a second"Levi smiled slightly "Any news on Reiner?""No, but for now, don't concern yourself with it. Just focus on Eren and we'll figure out the rest as we go"Levi nodded"I can't thank you enough for this""Sure you can, just make sure my son still has a job at the end of all this"Mr Smith patted him on the shoulder and Levi watched him leave. Once everything came out... no one would want to touch anything to do with the Ackerman name. Hell, he didn't even want to set foot back in company HQ ever again. Maybe it was time for a career change... he shook his head as he pulled Hanji's keys from his pocket, he didn't have time to waste when he could be with Eren.
Arriving at the hospital he headed straight up to Eren's room, he let himself in and moved to his mates side. He was sure there was less machines than last time and he smiled, his mate was so brave and strong. He toed his shoes off and climbed into bed again, Hanji would find him eventually. He laid there and filled Eren in on what had happened today. He told his mate how proud he was, and how the phone call had been so brave, he showed praise on his mate, hoping that Eren could hear him... even though he was sure he couldn't. He pulled Eren closer and closed his eyes drifting off easily with Eren's solid form in his arms.
*A search of his residence revealed a series of hidden cameras had been installed, as well as small remote chip in his door, which logged the code changes and sent them to Kenny's phone when it was in range. Levi was disgusted, he'd never installed cameras himself as he didn't want any evidence if things went sour. He didn't install them once Eren had moved in as he didn't want his mate feeling like he was under a microscope or that he didn't trust him. It was revolting to know the man had seen everything... including their sex life. He had the living and dining room rearranged, investing in a new sofa that could be pushed together to make a bed, he wasn't having Eren going up and down stairs... He also went ahead and replaced their bed... and Eren's, he ordered all new bedding, all their old things had been sent to charity. His mate would more than likely be confused by all the changes, but he'd deal with that then...
|
The home phone rings for the fifth time today (it's been doing that a lot lately). Sometimes it's someone calling to RSVP for the wedding. Simon has no idea why Agatha put his number on the invitations, and he really wishes she hadn't.
But sometimes it's Baz. And that? That Simon loves.
Simon picks up the phone. He takes a breath, but before he can begin to speak, Baz interjects on the other end.
"Wanna have some fun?" Simon can hear the smile in his voice.
"That sounds dangerous and awful already. I'm in." Simon starts pulling a sweatshirt over his head before Baz says another word. "I'll be waiting outside."
***************************************************
"Have you ever been to the fair, Simon?" It's the first thing Baz has said to him the entire trip, and they've been in the car ten minutes.
"I love it when you call me that," Simon whispers. Baz laughs, but it comes out a little strangled and a little wrong. Because it's not funny when Simon says things like that. It hurts. Because it's a little taste of what Baz spent all those years avoiding. Why he acted like he hated Simon. It's a little too close. And now, with two weeks until the wedding, the days when he can have his little taste of heaven are dwindling, and that makes it hurt even more, because why would Snow choose now to reconcile his relationship with Baz? (He did it because he was scared and because the wedding was looming in the future and because he didn't know how to deal with his feelings. But neither of them knew that. Not really).
"So, have you? Been to the fair?"
"No. But I saw pictures of it in a lot of the books they had at the homes I stayed at during the summer." His voice takes on a slightly painful quality. "I've always wanted to ride on a Ferris wheel. When I was little, after I saw one on the telly, I used to imagine how it felt to be up that high. Above everything and everyone. In control." Baz removes one hand from the steering wheel and rests it gently on Simon's hand, which is laying on the console between them.
Simon gasps quietly, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he turns his hand and interlocks his fingers with Baz's. Because even if in two weeks, they can't have any of this, right now, they have everything. And that's what matters.
"We can go on the Ferris wheel if you like."
******************************************************
They pull into a huge dirt car park. It takes them fifteen minutes to find a good parking spot, and another five minutes to walk to the actual fairgrounds. Simon stares in awe at all of the people around him- he's never been anywhere with this many people. And then the fair comes into view.
It's just now dusk, and a patchy violet has begun to dust over the sky. It's light enough that they don't need the lights of the fair to see, but dark enough that they've just been switched on, and Simon is astonished by all the bright, neon colors and the sparkling signs. "What's this? What's that?" He asks Baz in a childlike stupor, eyes wide and bluer than ever and full of innocent wonder. Baz takes a deep breath and reaches for his hand again, and holds it so gently that Simon isn't sure if it's really happening until he feels the discrete stares coming from all directions. Heat rises to the back of his neck and his cheeks, turning his face blotchy and red. But he doesn't let go. He merely clutches tighter and stares defiantly back at the people who look a little too long, with an expression on his blushing face that screams "This is who I am. I'm alive. I'm on fire. And there's nothing anyone can do about it."
"Where to first?" Baz barely manages to squeak out, shocked by Simon's willingness to hold his hand in public, and shocked by the lively determination he sees in the lines of his face. Simon looks up at Baz, fiery blue eyes burning into cool grey ones, and then laughs an adorable, high pitched, tinkling laugh. "Can we go on the Ferris wheel? I see it right there."
"Of course we can go on the Ferris wheel, Snow. Isn't that what you wanted to do in the first place?"
"Yeah, but there's a long line, and I didn't know if you'd want to wait."
"For you, Simon?" Baz whispers. "I'd wait forever."
Simon blushes so red he's practically purple, and leans into Baz's side. Baz wraps his arm around Simon's shoulders. He makes me feel so small, Simon thinks. But so safe.
They walk in silence until they reach the line to the Ferris wheel, Simon tangled in Baz's arms, trying not to think about how good, how right the weight of his arm feels swung around him. Simon gets up on his tiptoes, puts his mouth close to Baz's ear like he's going to brush a soft kiss onto his cheek, and says, so quietly Baz almost can't hear it (even with his magical vampire hearing shit), "This is so wrong, you know."
"Why? Why is it wrong?" Baz demands, suddenly defensive. "Because I'm a guy, and you're a guy? Why the bloody hell does that make anything wrong?"
"No, no, that's not it," Simon counters, pulling away. "It's just that.. Well... Agatha."
"Fuck Agatha," Baz spits in disgust. "Or rather, don't. Don't ever. Because you know you don't want to, and I know you don't want to, and she probably doesn't want to either."
"I know. But I took off my ring today when I came out to the car to meet you. And it didn't strike me until now how immensely wrong that was."
"Simon, are you straight?"
"I- I really don't know. I thought I was. But then again, I never really thought about it. I've never had much of a choice in anything. I was expected to go to Watford, I was expected to defeat the Humdrum, and I'm expected to marry Agatha." The line is slowly shifting forward, and Simon shuffles up as he talks. "Baz, I don't know if I want to get married. I've never had the chance to think about what I want or what I don't. I just do as people think I should, and that's a little bit wrong, too." Four people in line before them. "You know, Agatha and I have never done anything but kiss. And we've been together for more than long enough. And when we kiss, it feels like just a routine. I think kissing may be overrated." (Baz really doesn't want to get started thinking about Snow and kissing in the same context, but he nods his head thoughtfully like he isn't imagining slamming Snow up against a wall and tearing his shirt off). Two people. "I don't know if I've ever really felt anything with Agatha. She's so beautiful. Shouldn't that make me feel something? And she's so smart, and funny, and she's just such a lovely person. Shouldn't I feel something? Baz, shouldn't I?" Simon is pleading now, begging Baz to validate his feelings.
"You should feel something," Baz agrees in a gravelly voice. It's their turn. They climb into the seat together and Baz watches as the fear and worry slowly melts from Simon's eyes and is replaced with fascination as they're lifted higher, higher, into the clouds. It's quite dark now, and they can see the stars twinkling above them as they rise. Baz grabs both of Simon's hands in his and lays them on his lap.
"Baz?"
"Simon?"
"I feel something."
|
Clint's in South Africa when he's made.
He stuffs the emergency comm from the tiny pocket of his glove into his ear and blurts out his extraction request, heart pounding in his chest as he crab walks through the caravan of trucks, trying to avoid the shouting, gun-toting members of the group he's infiltrated.
All he hears in reply is static.
He repeats the request, flicks at the stupid thing, and skids along gravel. It scrapes the hell out of his arm when he falls. Still, all he hears is static.
"If anybody can hear me," he says in a low voice, "I've been compromised. This is Hawkeye, requesting immediate extraction. Repeat, this is Hawkeye requesting immediate extraction. Please don't fucking leave me out here," he breathes to himself. A quiet sense of panic is starting to seethe up from the pit of his stomach. Part of him's been expecting this for months. It had taken a good half a year before the S.H.I.E.L.D. shrinks agreed to let him back out in the field and much as Fury's said New York's water under the bridge, it's been creeping up to bite him in the ass in subtle ways ever since.
The soft crackle in his ear remains unbroken and he mutters a fervent, "Fuck. On my own, I guess. Okay. Can't say I don't deserve it."
Behind him, a voice says, "Ja, sal jy kry wat jy verdien."
"Shit," Clint sighs.
~
An hour later--Clint guesses it's been an hour anyway, since the sun had gone down while they were beating the shit out of him--he's lying at the bottom of a steep incline in the dark, staring up at the stars, nova-bright pain pulsing up his neck and down his arm from what he's pretty sure is a fractured collarbone. Probably half of his ribs are bruised and his nose is broken again and there's a graze from a bullet on the outside of his left thigh. He's lucky to be alive, but considering he's ten miles away from the nearest town, and blown, and in possession of nothing more than the clothes on his back, he still feels pretty fucked.
Eventually, he acknowledges that it's getting colder the longer he lies here and since nobody's coming for him, if he's going to not-die, it's up to him to make it happen. He has to get back for Tasha.
So he grits his teeth and forces himself to his feet, spitting out a steady stream of curses. It feels like a lit torch is pressed to his shoulder. He's been staring up at the sky long enough he knows which way is west, so he heads for the sea.
Every step drives a white hot poker into his chest.
~
It's late afternoon the next day when he finally, finally makes it to somewhere with buildings. The pain in his shoulder is constant, sharp enough he can barely breathe. Lack of food and water isn't doing him any favors either. Pretty much the only thing that's kept him putting one foot in front of the other is the thought of Natasha, Natasha, Natasha.
He can't leave her alone.
Somehow, he's got to get to a phone. He collapses in a shadow at the rear of one of the structures and hides there until dark.
Then he breaks into one of the buildings with unlit windows. He half expects to find it empty and phoneless, but thank fuck, it's not, and when he picks up the receiver he slides down against the wall as relief weakens his knees. There's a dial tone.
He dials the secure number that's supposed to connect him with his handler, but the number's out of order. He hadn't really expected it to work, so the disappointment's mild. He dials a secure HQ number next and that doesn't go through either. Clint starts to wonder if they've somehow figured out it's him and blocked his number, which is insane, he knows, but he's not exactly thinking clearly right now.
Then he dials Coulson's direct number. When that doesn't go through, something cold and prickling winds it's way through him. Why the fuck aren't any of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s numbers working?
It goes against protocol, but fuck it. He calls Natasha.
Her number, thank god, thank god, goes through, but to voicemail. He leaves her a message, tries to pack as much information in as he can without potentially compromising either of them.
"Hey, Tash, it's me." His voice cracks a little. "I was just, ah, wondering if you were still planning to go to South Beach this weekend. I tried calling Maria, and she said she'd take a message for me, but I just wanted to connect with you myself. If you're still going, I was wondering if I could hitch a ride? My car needs to go in for repairs, it won't make it any further than North Carolina, if that. I'd offer to pay gas or lunch, but, uh, I'm tapped out until payday. Also, my battery's dying, so if you get this before I call you back, try calling Anderson, guy owes me a favor." He sighs and closes his eyes. "I'd really love to see you in that new black bikini you got, so I hope we can work this out."
When that's done, he has to give himself a minute to breathe because panic is clawing at the back of his throat, tightening it to the point of pain, his eyes wet with tears. After he pulls himself back together, he dials Steve Rogers' number. Those two have been going on a lot of missions together, maybe...
Rogers doesn't answer either. Clint leaves him a message, too, just a brusque, "Rogers, it's me, if you get this, ask Natasha to call me, okay, please."
After that he's tapped out. He doesn't know anybody fucking else, S.H.I.E.L.D. is...S.H.I.E.L.D is all he's got. Everything he has, except Nat.
He's been in here for almost an hour, desperately pushing his luck, and he's just about ready to haul his ass off the floor when he thinks, Tony Stark.
After New York, Stark had given them all his number, his private number, and told them to call if they ever needed anything. Clint never expected to actually use it, because yeah right, why's the guy gonna help him out? So they saved the world once together. He probably only gave it to them for show.
But he's out of options and-- Fuck.
He dials the number.
It rings three times and Clint's already written it off in his head, so when the line goes live and Stark says, "Yeah, talk to me," he doesn't respond right away.
"Hello?"
"Stark?" Clint blurts, stunned.
He can hear the frown in Tony's voice when he says, slow and drawn out, "Yeees, who's this? Do I know you? Because if I don't--"
"It's me, Stark. Legolas."
There's a beat of shocked silence and then, he practically shouts, "Barton! Are you-- Where the hell are you? Are you all right?"
"I'm--"
"Wait, have you been on a job? Where are you? Do you have any idea what's been going on?"
"I'm in South Africa," Clint cuts in, raising his voice. Tony won't have a clue what he's talking about if he tries code. He'll just have to hope.
"What? Where? Cape Town?"
"Outside it, yeah," Clint says.
"Can you get to the airport?"
Clint scrubs at his forehead and tries to think. Does he know Cape Town well enough to find the airport? "Yeah," he says finally. "Probably."
"Do it," Tony says. "I'll be there in nineteen hours. We need to deal with this habit of yours of being fifteen minutes late to everything."
Before Clint can ask what the hell's going on, Tony hangs up. Goddamn Stark.
Having a mission to accomplish helps keep him from losing it though. He drags himself to his feet, takes a deep breath, and hobbles outside to pick his way out of the mountains.
~
It takes him nearly the full nineteen hours to get to Cape Town International. Coming down the mountain with his collarbone is fucking torture. And he knows torture.
He hobbles his way into the city and winds up crumpling in an alley next to a dumpster. He's not totally sure how long he lies there, but at some point an old woman pokes him in the ribs with a walking stick and pushes a paper cup into his hands. He winces as his shoulder pulses with pain and nearly drops the cup. The woman makes a distressed noise.
Whatever's in the cup smells fucking amazing and Clint does his best to force his grimace into a smile.
"Eet," she orders.
Oh. So soup probably.
He sips at it and it is fucking amazing. Just the right temperature and possibly the most delicious thing he's had in weeks. He gulps it down, and when he looks up again, the woman is hobbling away down the street.
"Dankie!" he yells after her.
She flaps a hand dismissively and disappears.
This isn't the first time a stranger's offered Clint help when he needed it. Apparently he has one of those faces, or maybe he just makes super pathetic noises when he's been fucked over, but there are people pretty much all over the globe that he owes his gratitude to, if not his life. He's a big fan of rewarding good karma and so most of his paychecks go back to people like this, making some improvement to their neighborhood or town or whatever, or even just funding a trip back so he can bash in the heads of people causing trouble. It's not like he needs anything else, so why not use the money for good stuff like that?
The soup brings back some of his energy and he steals some laundry off a line--guilty though it makes him feel--and makes himself a sling. It helps a little.
Later, when he's skulking around near the airport, trying not to look suspicious and wondering with not a little bit of anxiety how the hell Tony's going to find him, he turns around and runs right into the guy.
Then nearly bites his tongue off choking down a scream.
He thinks he passes out then or comes close enough to it, because next thing he knows he's on Stark's private plane lying on a push-down bed that's more comfortable than some of the actual beds he's slept in during his life.
Tony's bent over him, brow furrowed, jacket stripped off, holding something that makes the abrasions on Clint's arm sting.
Clint hisses and Tony's sharp eyes flick up to his face. "Collarbone, huh? And road rash? Bootprint on your ribs. Who'd you piss off?"
Clint rubs at his forehead. "AIM splinter cell."
Tony's expression goes dark. "If Fury weren't dead already, I might kill him myself. Why the fuck didn't anyone tell me AIM was still in operation?"
But Clint barely hears him, his hand fisting in Tony's sleeve. "Fury's what?"
Tony blinks a few times and the anger fades into an open, child-like expression of, oh. "Shit, you don't know."
"I don't know what?" Clint demands and remembers calling Anderson and getting no reply, calling HQ and getting more of the same, fucking Coulson. Panic starts to swell in his gorge. "What the fuck do you mean Fury's dead?"
Tony holds up his hands, frazzled. "Hey, I don't know anything for sure, okay. From what I hear though... Fury's been assassinated."
Clint just stares at him and Tony goes on in a hurry.
“Maybe Cap and Romanova, too--” He swallows thickly when Clint's hand goes white-knuckled around his sleeve. Natasha? No. “There were—helicarriers, three of them. Helicarriers using my tech. They went down in the Potomac. From what I've been able to put together, they were under Hydra control. Around the same time the helicarriers went into the river, somebody opened the floodgates on S.H.I.E.L.D.--all their secrets, all their data, dumped it on the internet. Stuff that goes back fifty goddamn years.”
Clint's hand goes loose. “Everything?”
Tony grimaces and shifts, reaches up with one hand to smooth his shirt over the center of his chest. “Ah. Looks like, yeah. It's—petabytes worth.”
Petabytes, what the fuck are petabytes? More importantly, if all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s intel has been dumped onto the internet...
Jesus.
“I think your career as a spy is over,” Tony says quietly.
Clint wants to knock his lights out.
“It's...a lot to take in,” Tony admits and slumps back in his seat. “Hell, I've had a twenty-six hour head-start on you and I'm still reeling. There's some wobbly street footage from yesterday afternoon of some racoon-eyed hobo terrorizing DC. Rogers made this impassioned speech at S.H.I.E.L.D. about Hydra and resistance or some shit that there's maybe half a clip of—the guy's a revolutionary, who knew?”
“Hydra attacked S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ?” Clint says, trying desperately to understand.
Tony looks at him and then sits forward, leaning on his knees. “No. S.H.I.E.L.D. was Hydra. Hydra was S.H.I.E.L.D. They've been inside the organization since...well, I'm not sure since when, I haven't quite dug that part up yet, but a long fucking time. JARVIS is finding evidence that they've been responsible for inciting some of the incidents that started wars, coups, things like that.”
Hydra inside S.H.I.E.L.D.
Clint has an awful moment where he realizes Loki wasn't where his unmaking started. Most of his adult life he's worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. And if S.H.I.E.L.D. is Hydra, he's been doing things at the behest of others—of evil sons of bitches for--
“Shit,” he hears himself say, voice wobbly and weak. His stomach lurches.
“Hey, hey,” he hears Tony say distantly. “Don't—shit, Barton--”
Something smooth and plastic is forced into his hands and he crumples forward puking and puking. Fuck, this can't be happening.
Stark mutters something and slips away, leaving him there with his hot poker shoulder and the smell of his own vomit. He's shaking and he wants to scream, wants to run, wants to curl up in a ball, wants to know what the fuck is going on.
There's a television in one corner of the cabin displaying the news. Clint watches it go by numbly. There's nothing of worth being reported.
At one point he realizes how absurd it is that the lifestyle of lies he's built his everything on has finally been revealed to be yet more lies and he breaks into hysterical laughter. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Stark shooting him wary glances.
They're somewhere over the Atlantic north of South America when he pulls the shreds of himself back around his shoulders and croaks, “'ve you found anything yet?”
Stark looks up from the tablet he has laid out in front of a series of holographic screens. His hair is wild from the way he's been digging his fingers through it. Clint wonders how long it's been since he slept, why this matters so much to him. “A lot actually,” he says after a beat. “Nothing about Fury or Steve or Natasha.” He shakes his head. “If they're alive, I'm betting they're laying low after all that. The US Government is not happy.”
“Wonder why,” Clint drawls, looking at the screens.
Tony's quiet for a moment. Then he says, “We'll find them. One way or another--”
“Yeah,” Clint says.
“And you can stay with me.”
That gets Clint's attention. He turns his head. “Excuse me?”
“Look, the Triskelion was destroyed,” Tony says, flicking up an image of the destroyed building with the half-submerged wreckages of the helicarriers in the background. Clint's stomach clenches at the sight. “I'm betting if you had much of anything, it was in barracks there, am I right?”
Clint doesn't answer.
“I'm done with this whole...scattered across the globe thing. Done. Last year everyone thought I was dead. I almost was. Now this? If they're alive—no, fuck that, even if they aren't. You, me, Bruce, Thor--if I can ever get past Foster's damn intern to talk to him. We should be together. So when shit like this happens--”
“All for one and one for all?” Clint murmurs.
His shaky sense of self likes the idea though. Of a team. Of having each other's backs like they did in New York.
“Yeah,” Tony says. “We put Steve in charge. Give us a good moral compass—I mean, the guy just took on the government of the country who's flag he wears on his chest. So we know he's good for it. No bias. And you can't tell me the guy's dead because he blew up some helicarriers—he crashed a plane into the Arctic for Christ's sake.” He taps the table. “And I maybe did a few renovations with this in mind. There may or may not be a floor with an archery range and your name on it.”
Clint stares at him.
Tony shrugs. “I like to have contingencies.”
“Move in with you,” Clint says, turning it over in his head. “Yeah, all right. What the hell. I got nowhere else to go.” He pauses. “We're gonna be a target.”
Tony snorts and waves at the screens, at the footage of the smoking wreckage of the Triskelion. “We're already a target.”
Something funny and squirming is lighting up inside Clint's chest. For the second time in two years, he's having to slot himself back together and figure out how to exist, how to just be. He never in a million years would have guessed that he'd be doing it with Tony Stark giving him a leg up, but it's something he thinks he could get used to. “What's our next move?” he says.
Tony grins.
|
"Y/n! Wake up!" A small voice said to you as you turned off your fifth alarm for the day. "You'll be late for school!"
"Not going..." You groaned pulling the sheets over your head, ignoring the small voice who pleaded for a normal day.
"Your grade will get worse if you're irresponsible."
"Tikki, if you want to go to see Marinette just say so," You pull out the small box with the earrings of Ladybug handing it to the small kwami. "plus I have a scooter so we'll get there fast."
"Yes but you have to be ready for anything!"
"Alright..." You force yourself out of bed to get ready, Tikki followed you close making you wonder if this was a normal thing for her. "Are you worried about your real master?" You ask the kwami who hesitates to answer you. "It's fine if you don't want to answer."
"Marinette was wrong about you, you're kind in your own way..." Tikki finally admitted after you left her proximity and head to school.
・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・
"Marinette!" Tikki squealed once she saw the bluenette, though kwamis should never leave their owner she found it kind that you let her roam free.
"How is our mission going?" Marinette asked she made a deal before parting with Tikki that the kwami will investigate the house her backup lived in.
"It's a museum, nothing really fascinating. Wait!" Tikki exclaimed as Marinette's eyes grew in anticipation, "There are weird noises and Y/n said the place might be haunted so I don't really roam a lot."
While giving Tikki permission to see her previous owner you spent the time hanging out with Adrien and Nino doing the project. Nino was running late so it just you and Adrien. She was shifting uncontrollably which made you turn to the blonde, he was never good at hiding his feelings and you saw that right away.
"What's wrong?" You ruffle Adrien's hair as he blushes at the contact.
"Well, Nino wanted to apologize on behalf of Alya, but she said she'll do it since she made you cry yesterday..."
"I don't want an apology." You said gruffly as you fixed the small details of his project, Alya was being vague with you and that pissed you off more than anything.
"Though you also look a bit peeved, is there something your... boyfriend can help you with?" Adrien's mouth turned dry at the latter part, the only time he felt confident with you was as his superhero persona and not himself.
Adrien saw hoy you were looking for a way to tell him your problems but it was soon interrupted by someone who made their presence known with a bouquet of flowers obscuring his view of you.
"Y-" You were met face first with roses as you turned to talk to Adrien. "I think I ate a petal." You state as you retreat to look at the person holding the flowers.
"I wanted to thank you for the gig you gave us," Luka confessed as he lowered the roses to your hands. "I hope you like them."
"T-thanks..." You looked at the flowers, they were pretty but not one of your favorites.
"Y/n doesn't like roses, she prefers other types than just roses..." Adrien stated and she pulled you close to him.
"Yes but she also adores rose tea, and she can make that with this bouquet." Luka disputed.
"Y/n is also here and she thanks you," You chime as you felt the roses, it was such a touching detail and unexpected. Smelling the flowers you started to smile to yourself as the aroma filled your nose. "Thanks, Luka it seems that you cheered me up."
"I'm glad you liked them, even if they're a bit cliche I'm happy you liked them."
"Yes, not to mention the bouquet is small, it just adds more to the beauty..."
Your short-lived happiness was stopped when Nino came running towards the three of you.
"Nino, what's wrong?' Adrien asked, his friend was out of breath as he struggled to tell what was the problem.
"Alya got akumatized again, she got angry and she's after Y/n." Nino exclaimed, it seems that he was able to give enough information to Adrien who was panicking over your safety. It didn't take much longer for Adrien to pull you into the locker room to hide you away in one of the lockers.
"Hide her in mine, Alya won't look there." Luka pointed as they both shoved you into the locker.
"Guys, I can defend myself." Your muffled voice spoke, you felt a small pressure next to your cheek, it was Tikki who was next to you. Signaling to the kwami to stay quiet you heard the two boys bickering over who should stay. "Both of you stop yelling, leave or Alya will find me."
"Fine..." Both of them grunted in unison, as their footsteps decreased you asked Tikki to check if they were anywhere near the room.
"All clear," Tikki responded, "I was worried that Lady Wifi got to you but then Nino told Marinette of what was happening."
"Lady Wifi sounds like a cool name... but it's funny that miraculous holders can get akumatized." You thought out loud as you made a plan, the last thing you wanted was to fight under Ladybug's name and legacy. Then again the look Master Fu gave you was the same look you had when you pleaded to become Magpie, all doubts dispersed as your gaze fell on Tikki.
"Tikki spots on!" Transforming little by little you saw how your outfit differed from that of Marinette's Ladybug, yours had a princely look to it with a mixture of cavalry uniform, black was more prominent than red which suited your taste.
Getting out of the locker was easy, the boys with all of their bickering had forgotten to make sure you were actually locked inside. Foregoing the door, the window was your only option as you climbed on top of the school.
"Where's the hotspot?" You looked around, nothing caught your eye, maybe Lady Wifi was taken care of by Chat Noir? He's capable of doing that much and more.
"Kitty cat, come to the roof." You texted the hero as you hid behind some machinery.
To your suprised, Chat Noir came quickly and didn't bother to respond as he looked around the room.
"Yo!" You greet him and were met with the end of the metal pole he carried, "Oh, Ladybug is on vacation so I'm here as a substitute."
"And how can I trust you?"
Ah, that was the problem, there was no trust when there's a new partner in the usual friend group.
"And love itself is just as innocent as roses in May
I know nothing can drive it away
Though love itself is just as brief as a candle in the wind
And it's greedy just like sin..." You sang to Chat, it was one of his favorites that he often fell asleep to in your balcony when he visited you.
"Y/n?" Chat Noir, no, Adrien said lovingly, he was confused as to why you took on the Ladybug hero persona. "What, why?"
"I told you, Ladybug is on vacation, and these earrings were left on my balcony." You lied, it felt bad for lying to him this time around. "Come on partner!"
Pulling Chat Noir with you you swung from place to place following the people who were left on pause on Lady Wifi's rampage.
"Looks like she's going to the TV station." You commented to Chat Noir.
"Why though?"
"Maybe she found some dirt on me or something, Nino said she's angry at me. She could just be plotting on making my image bad." You shrugged, if she ever did that then Gabriel Agreste will have to hide a body and you'll gladly help.
Getting inside the TV building proved to be easy, everyone was frozen in time as you inspected where she could be.
"It's early morning, her only option is the morning channels but even then there's only one program that all of France sees."
"You sure you're not Ladybug?" Chat Noir teased, his smile widens once you laughed at his assumption.
"I'm paw-sitive I'm not, and its Ladybird, don't want people to mix me with someone else."
"Ladybird seems more fun than Ladybug..." He joked as he kicked open the doors of the recording room.
"Lady Wifi with the real scoop! Who really is Y/n L/n?" Lady Wifi boasted to the camera and to the many video-drones that hovered around her, "Who are you?!" Her words were directed at you and not to your partner.
"Y'know, you really need to get the spotlight more love." You tease to Chat who blushes at the nickname.
"Breaking news! Chat Noir's new partner!" Lady Wifi's drones interrupted your banter as you looked back at the girl, "Where's Ladybug and who are you?"
"Don't know, the name's Ladybird." You extend your hand as Lady Wifi takes it eagerly forgetting her bargain with Hawkmoth. As you chatted her up you noticed that there were two likely scenarios, the akuma could be in one of the drones or in the remote.
"So Ladybird, are you in a relationship with Chat Noir?"
"Aww, you're making me blush, between all the attention from the cameras and your drones I feel very embarrassed to say anything about our partnership. Maybe you should control them over there to the sofa so we can talk more." You emphasized some words, Chat was quick to catch onto your words as he got his staff ready for your command.
"So it is true that someone else stole your heart?!" The question was directed to Chat Noir who became flustered at the question, was this a divine sign to declare his love?
"Ladybird is..."
"Lucky charm!" You yell, hitting Lady Wifi square in the face, the yoyo releases a... bat? "Whateves, batter up!" You tell Chat Noir as he directed the drones to your deadly swing, the last thing to meet your swing was the drone controller that released a black butterfly.
"Looks like you did good." Chat commented as you purified the akuma.
"We did a good job, it's not easy to adapt to a new partner." You give him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you for everything.
"Well now we have to go, but I'll see you later tonight." Chat says with a wink and some finger guns.
"I 'll let down my hair for you." You returned the compliment, but your eyes fell on Alya. "Maybe I should take her back, see ya."
Carrying Alya on your back she became conscious halfway to school, though her constant questions made you think twice if you really wanted to carry her back to safety.
"Alright buckaroo, just go up the stairs and I'll go my own way." You sighed as you put the girl down.
"Will I ever see you again?" Alya asked hopeful at your answer.
"Nah, one time job. After this, I'm going back to being me." You disappear from her sight, slowly making your way to the inside locker, just in time for the transformation to end.
"You were amazing! You didn't even use your Ladybug sight!" As Tikki continued to praise you she failed to notice how you took off the earrings and handed it to her.
"It was fun but not me," You motion to the earring in your hand, "you should return to your friend and I'll catch some z's here."
Tikki takes the miraculous as she looks at your sadly, though it was a short she really did value your time with you. Sensing her hesitation you lift her chin with your finger so her gaze can meet yours.
"If you ever need help don't hesitate to ask, now take care." As soon as Tikki leaves, you relax in the locker curling up to fall asleep. You were used to tight spaces so nothing was out of the ordinary, other than the roses that you cradled inside.
"Luka's locker smells like him..." You thought to yourself, it had a wooden undertone and a freshwater smell a perfect combination for the roses he'd gifted you.
"Y/n?" His voice broke your train of thought as Luka opened the locker and slowly shook your body, "You fell asleep, cute as always." He smoothed your hair, it was a weird deja vu.
"Alya is back to normal..." Adrien's voice trailed off as he saw how Luka doted on you.
You sneeze, alerting the two boys that you're awake. Eyelashes fluttering as you let our another yawn slowly getting up.
"Is the school canceled?" You asked half-awake.
"Yeah, let's got to my place." Adrien pulled you along, his grip secured against yours, "Speaking of back to normal, we need to go on a date. The paparazzi are losing their minds because of Lady Wifi, so many think you're a gold digger."
"Phooey, but I need to ask you something." You tugged on Adrien's hand to get his attention. "Mrs. Bustier's birthday is this Friday, do you have a gift?"
"Umm..."
"How about we go on a shopping date, I'll help you get a gift for her."
"I love that idea."
"It's a date then."
|
The weekend comes around filling Yamaguchi with anxiety. Kuroo and Kenma are already on their way, the address they gave to meet up was of some rest house near the boundary of Tokyo and Miyagi. Apparently, the Kozume’s own the place and only ever gets used for gatherings. The two told Kenma’s parents that they were going to use the house for their volleyball team outing. Despite the poor excuse (considering it was the middle of a semester), Kenma’s parents didn’t ask for further details.
“If you don’t feel so good, you should’ve just skipped practice.”
Tadashi looks up to find Kei’s worried eyes, “I’m fine.”
“Your hair spikes up when you’re mad, nervous, or scared.” The taller boy raises his hand and pokes at Tadashi’s cowlick hair, “You’re obviously not mad and there’s nothing scaring you right now, so what are you nervous about?”
You .
Apart from his nerves concerning the adjustments on the serum that he’ll intake in a few hours, his anxious thoughts also included Tsukishima’s watchful eye on him. Tadashi knows it’s because of the bruises he’s been getting. It’s worrying the blonde so much that he almost wants to keep Yamaguchi by his side at all times.
It’s endearing, really. If only Tadashi wasn’t hiding something from him, he would have appreciated his best friend’s care for him more.
During one of their breaks in practice, Shimizu approaches Yamaguchi by the bench with a concerned look on her face.
“Your phone’s been vibrating inside your locker for a while, can you go and check it out? Might be important,”
Tadashi gives her his thanks and heads towards their club room with hurried steps. If it’s loud enough for someone to hear, then that must’ve been that device Kenma gave him that’s wiretapped into Miyagi’s police department.
He was right. There’s an armed robbery currently happening in the outskirts of town. If he can leave right now, he can get there before the police that were dispatched. He slips the device in his pockets and grabs his backpack, glancing towards the newly replaced window in their clubroom as a means to get out fast without being--
“Yamaguchi,” Tadashi turns his head towards the door. Kei’s standing there, hands on the knob and catching his breath. “What’s wrong?”
Shit.
“Emergency,” he says, trying to keep it short.
“What happened? Is it your mom?” Ah, but that will never work on Tsukki.
“Shimada-san’s,” he says before he can even think. “Need to go there now.” He grabs the doorknob and opens it wide enough so he can get out but Kei holds him by the wrist before he can even make it down the stairs.
“I’ll come with you--”
“No!”
Even Tadashi is surprised at his own voice but he’s in a hurry, he needs to get there now and Kei is being difficult.
“Tell coach I’m skipping the rest of the practice, I’m sorry.”
He ignores the look of surprise and hurt in Kei’s face as he turns around and sprints down the stairs.
He arrives at the scene a little short of late. His exhaustion from their earlier training and his mind racing at the thought of Kei’s expressions eating up his remaining strength.
Two men clad in black from their masks to their thick jackets run towards a black van parked just by the edge of the street. The men are tall but lanky, heavy bags of jewelry keeping them from running on their full speed. Tadashi quickly swings their way and lands just a few steps in front of them, causing the men to stop in their tracks abruptly.
One of them stumbles and lands on his face due to the momentum but the other charges towards him with no hesitation. The man has no weapon, just swings the bag of jewelry towards Tadashi to knock him down. Despite his decreased strength, the man's actions don't go as planned as it only took a few steps back for Spiderman to find his balance again and grab the man by his collar and turn him around. In a split second, Tadashi wraps the man's arms together with his webs and kicks him forward.
The other who stumbled earlier made no move and only watched as his partner slumped down face first next to him. Tadashi spares the man a glance, seeing a glimpse of panic in his face despite being obscured by his ski mask. As Tadashi moves closer to them to grab the bag of jewelry, things escalate faster than his remaining spider sense can keep up with.
He sees a change in the expression of the man on the ground in front of him and in the next moment, the sound of a car door opening is heard. Before he could turn around, a heavy sensation ran down on him and his ears started to ring. His vision is soon to follow as black patches appear in his sight and to deliver the last blow, he gets kicked to the ground as another hit to his head is made.
As the van drives off, a new shade of red stains the hero’s mask.
On the other side of Miyagi, Shimada Mart is engulfed in flames.
-
Kei can’t feel his legs. He hasn’t run this fast in his life; not in training, not in practice matches, not even in an actual game. But those things never required this much speed, none of them were important. None of those felt like his chest would explode in anxiety, in fear if he doesn’t make it in time.
Hinata and Yachi’s worried voices seem too far off behind him. He doesn’t care. He just needs to get there now.
“Dammit, who knew that bastard could run that fast!” Kageyama curses in between breaths. Hinata hits him at the side.
“He’s panicking, that’s why! We can catch up to him if you stop wasting your breath by complaining!”
Yachi is on the verge of tears, trying to catch up to the two in front of her. “Ah, I hope Yamaguchi-kun and Shimada-san are alright!”
Right after practice, the first years were on their way out of the school gates when they were stopped by one of the professors. They were told to take a detour if they ever need to pass by 4th street on their way home due to a huge fire at the mart.
And there was only one mart around the area, Shimada-san’s.
Tsukishima bolted out of the gate as soon as the realization hit him, the other three following suit in worry.
Kei arrives at the scene out of breath but he wastes no time in looking for that familiar, cowlick hair and freckled face. He should be here, where the fire trucks are parked and where a few people are being escorted by the firemen. Curse all these spectators, they’re all just in the way! He weaves through the crowd and gets closer to the trucks. No green headed boy with an all too familiar face, where is he!?
There’s too many people, too many faces he doesn’t recognize. The smell of smoke and burnt materials is nauseating. Where is he!? Kei stands out in the middle of the crowd with his height, he should be able to see him. He doesn’t hear him. He should be calling him by his silly childhood nickname somewhere around. Where is he!?
His breathing gets a little too heavy, his head getting a little dizzy, everything’s just getting a little too much.
WHERE ARE YOU, TADASHI!
“Tsukishima, you idiot!”
Kei gets roughly yanked by his collar and forced to look back at a seething Kageyama Tobio. The setter gives him a look. His earlier pissed off expression softens at the sight of an unusually panicked Tsukishima. He lets go of the blonde’s uniform. “Shimada-san’s over there,”
“Where is he?” Kei asks as soon as he’s within Shimada’s view.
“Oi, you rude bastard!” Hinata shoves him lightly. “Can’t you see Shimada-san’s state right now!?”
He does. Shimada has a white blanket around his shoulders, sitting on the pedestrian right across his mart that’s been reduced to ashes. He still looks a little shaken, parts of his apron have turned brown by getting caught on fire and his thick rimmed glasses are nowhere to be found.
“We’re sorry about that, Shimada-san,” Yachi apologizes for him, Kei will need to thank her for later. His panic has made all his sense fly out the window. “We’re just worried about you and Yamaguchi-kun,”
“Tadashi?” there’s a clear confusion on the elder’s face.
“He rushed here before practice ended,” Kei supplies, his anxiety from earlier doubling over. “He said there was an emergency,”
Shimada’s expression didn’t change.
… no.
|
I
Sanji was sometimes utterly bewildered by the intensity of his emotions. Growing up as a child surrounded by the cold insouciance of the Germa regime, the distinction between him and his unfeeling brothers had made itself apparent. Ichiji had deliberately ingrained the stark contrast in Sanji’s mind, each ruptured vessel and shattered bone a reminder of why, unlike the others, he had been a failure. Even as an adult, Sanji was aware of the weaknesses that accompanied his capacity to feel. But as visceral as he was, he found immense difficulty in understanding the sheer ferocity of his emotions. Often, they would rush by like a torrent, and Sanji, never able to look into the river and observe the fish, could only mask his face as the raging waters overwhelmed him.
That day, the river came by once more, a tumultuous mess of fear and a few other emotions he couldn’t discern. He didn’t particularly know what he was doing as he leapt forward instinctively, the water sweeping him off his feet. He couldn’t even hear the words tumble out from his lips when he forced himself to speak. He was deaf and numb, and even his sight was waning as he struggled to maintain consciousness. However, a sliver of feeling returned to him as he gazed at a pair of horrified eyes, but he couldn’t quite identify the emotion as he collapsed into someone’s trembling arms and his vision faded. All he knew was that it was a shitty feeling.
...
Sanji awoke in the infirmary bed, comfortable and warm beneath the blankets. When he opened his eyes, he was almost blinded by the brilliant glare of yellow light. Squinting through the yellow murk, he could make-out two hazy figures leaning over the mattress. One, characterized by lovely, fiery orange hair; undoubtedly Nami. The other, he concluded as his vision cleared, was Usopp.
Nami, having noticed his awakening, was adorned with glistening tears in the corners of her brown eyes as a smile blossomed upon her lips. “Sanji-kun!” she exclaimed.
Usopp turned around and called, “He’s awake, Chopper!”
While Sanji re-positioned himself to gain a better view of his surroundings, he was greeted by high-pitched sobs as Chopper rushed forward and threw himself on top of his legs in an embrace of sorts.
It was impossible to determine the exact time of day, as there were no windows through which the outdoors were visible, or through which sunlight could enter. The room was brightly lit, however, by the lambent glow of two lamps. Chopper’s desk was littered with rolls of medical tape, open books laid haphazardly, and an arrangement of glinting scalpels.
Sanji’s gaze wandered to Luffy, who sat in the corner of the sick bay, legs crossed and arms folded. He appeared tired and worn, and dark circles had settled below his eyes, which stared vacantly at the infirmary wall. What concerned Sanji the most, however, was his thin appearance; it seemed as if Luffy, as voracious as he was, had not been eating properly. “What the hell have I been doing?” Sanji muttered.
Chopper lifted his head and wiped his streaming eyes with his hooves. “You’ve been unconscious for a few days,” he answered shakily.
“Days?” Sanji gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his blonde hair. “Who’s been doing the—how’ve you guys been eating?” His heart throbbed and pulsated as he glanced inadvertently at Luffy.
“That’s the first thing on your mind?” Usopp sighed exasperatedly. “Well, what else was I expecting? Anyway, everyone’s fine. Nami’s been doing the cooking.”
Sanji exhaled with relief, his heart-beat relaxing. “I can’t thank you enough, Nami-san.”
“Actually, that just might be possible,” said Nami coyly, twirling a flaming curl around her finger. “You see, I’m thinking of charging you for each meal I’ve made. I just haven’t decided on the numbers yet—”
“Oi, Nami!” scolded Usopp. “Now’s not the time for that! Can’t you see that he’s in critical condition?”
Critical condition? thought Sanji. What the hell had happened? He searched his mind for answers, but he returned fruitless; his memories were clouded and limited. It dawned on him that he had no clear recollection of the past few days. Finally, he asked, “What happened to me?”
Chopper sat-up in Sanji’s lap. “Well… Five days ago, you were shot in multiple vital areas.”
“What the hell?” Sanji was incredulous. “I got myself shot? More than once? I’ve always been able to dodge gunshots easily.”
Nobody responded immediately, and an uneasy silence settled itself within the infirmary. Usopp simply fidgeted, his dark eyes purposefully avoiding Sanji. Nami bit her lip nervously.
It was only until Chopper cleared his throat that the uncomfortable stillness was broken. “It wasn’t an accident, Sanji,” he began reluctantly, to which Sanji raised a curled eyebrow. “I don’t know if you recall, but we ran into some trouble with Marines. They… They warned us that they were armed with pointed Kairōseki bullets.
“We took down most of the enemy, and we thought we were safe. But we let our guards down, so we weren’t expecting it when four of the fallen Marines picked rifles up, and…” Chopper trailed-off, unable to continue. Even Nami had begun to shed tears once more, and it upset Sanji to know that he was the cause of a woman’s sadness. Still, it was necessary that they relay what took place.
Sanji pressed on. “Let me guess: here’s where I get shot, right?”
Usopp inhaled heavily. “No. They weren’t aiming for you. We all saw it coming, but any of us could do anything, you interfered, and—” His voice was tremulous.
“Yeah?”
“... And you jumped in front of Luffy, taking five lethal hits that were meant for him.”
The silence that followed the revelation was suffocating; no one spoke, and Sanji could not fathom the dolorous atmosphere that had suddenly encompassed the room. When turned to face Luffy, he found that his captain was watching him as well. The two locked gazes, and Sanji was unnerved by the anguish within Luffy’s dark eyes, normally so guileless and radiant. Sanji longed to reach out to him, but it seemed then as if a distance spanning several oceans were standing between them. So he turned away.
There was also something else—an inkling of doubt that told Sanji that he had no right to comfort Luffy. He chose to ignore this.
“Why did you do it? Why were you so reckless? Zoro could easily have protected Luffy with his swords, Usopp could have shot down the bullets, and... And you could have died, Sanji-kun.” Nami’s cheeks were flushed, and her lovely eyes shone with wetness. Sanji recognized immediately the feeling of horrendous guilt welling-up within him.
“I’m sorry, Nami-san, but I don’t remember anything from back then.” He closed his eyes, raking a hand through his hair subconsciously. “And it really doesn’t matter, because I didn’t die.”
“Sanji-kun, you can’t—”
“Sanji.”
His voice was weak and hoarse, hardly audible, but he managed to seize the attention of the entire room. Almost instinctively, Sanji responded, “What is it, Luffy?”
“You’re forbidden from doing something like that ever again.” His voice grew stronger, emanating intense anger. Sanji found this unsettling.
“Luffy, there’s no need to get so worked-up. Like I said, I’m okay, so it’s not important—”
“I order you to swear you’ll never do it again!”
“Oi, what the hell’s it to you, anyway?” Sanji was growing more aggravated by the second, and he could feel the torrent approaching, fierce and uncontrollable, though he didn’t know why—
“That’s an order!”
The storm had arrived, its destructive waves sweeping Sanji off his feet once more and carrying him away. Clenching his fists until his knuckles were snow-white, he shouted, “It’s none of your fucking business!”
Nami covered her mouth with both hands in shock. Usopp stared with his mouth agape. Chopper gasped.
Luffy only blinked noncommittally. Then, he stood up, his expression unreadable.
“You really don’t get it? You, of all people, Sanji?”
And he walked out the door.
II
It was a difficult task, allocating time to the navigational duties and the cooking. Still, Nami was an intelligent woman and (in her opinion) more reliable than most of her idiotic crewmates; it was only natural that the task fell to her, and she was more-than-willing to oblige while Sanji recuperated.
A day following Sanji’s outburst, Chopper had gathered the crew in the infirmary to explain the circumstances regarding his recovery. Luffy had not been there.
Extreme amounts of blood loss had induced anemia in Sanji’s body, so he would be spending an indefinite amount of time in bed, where restrictions on his diet and tobacco-intake (much to Sanji’s dismay) would be imposed. Chopper had also mentioned that the Kairōseki bullets, having deeply penetrated Sanji’s body, posed a serious threat and needed to be removed immediately with anesthetics. Brook had wondered how they had been so effective from the great distance from which they were fired.
“Don’t you remember?” Chopper had said. “They were pointed. Whoever designed them clearly knew about Luffy’s immunity to normal bullets.”
Nami had shuddered at the thought of the bullets striking their intended target, feeling slightly relieved before recalling that Luffy had been saved at Sanji’s expense.
Naturally, Sanji had opposed the notion of remaining in bed, unable to do the cooking until he had recovered completely. However, his opinion had changed after Nami had offered so sweetly to cook in his stead, batting her eyelashes seductively. His weak-mindedness in the face of attractive women never ceased to amaze her.
Of course, with so much responsibility, Nami did not have much time for the usual leisurely activities. Her novel-reading sessions with Robin had become more and more infrequent, and she could no longer drink alcohol with Zoro in the aquarium-bar.
Today, she did have free-time on her hands, so she visited Sanji in the infirmary. He was asleep when she entered the room, his complexion defined by a conspicuous pallor (a symptom of anemia, Chopper had said). She knelt next to him on the bedside and placed the back of her hand onto his forehead; as expected, his flesh was as cold as it was pale. His blonde hair, normally waves of soft, spun gold, was sandy. In a gesture of affection that would not have occurred had Sanji been awake, she smoothed his hair and brushed his fringe to one side.
She stayed a while before he finally began to stir. When he opened his eyes, the bright brown of his irises shone in the light. His pupils were slightly dilated. Upon noticing her, he smiled. “Was there something you needed, Nami-san?”
She grinned in return. “Nope. I’m here on a whim.”
“You’re so lovely when you worry about me.”
Nami rolled her eyes. “Don’t push your luck, Sanji-kun.” She reached into the pocket of her denim skirt, retrieving a box of cigarettes and a lighter. Brandishing the items at Sanji, she said, “I’ll trade you these for an honest conversation.”
Sanji reached out for a moment, but he hesitated, and his arm fell back to his side. “Chopper would flip if he found out.”
“Then you’ll just have to do it secretly, right?” she said with a sly wink. “I know how difficult it can be for you to go by without these things.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nami-san, but I can’t take you up on that offer.” But upon seeing her disappointed expression, he added, “I’m still up for honest conversation, though.”
Nami sighed, slipping the cigarettes and lighter back into her pocket. “Alright, Sanji-kun. I have a question for you.” When he did not respond, she continued: “The other day, you never answered me when I asked you why you… you...” She could not bring herself to elaborate further, but the vagueness of her words did not appear to obstruct Sanji’s understanding.
“Like I said, Nami-san, I don’t know. And I don’t remember.”
“You don’t remember anything? Not a single thing?”
“No.”
Nami bit her lip in frustration. “Do you have any ideas, then? You must know what you might’ve been thinking at the time.”
“I… No, I don’t have a clue.”
An odd tone had suddenly seeped into his words, and Nami was confident that it was a lie. Of course, she knew better than to pry, so she simply said, “You’re hopeless.” Sanji’s lips twisted into a frown, and his gaze skirted around Nami. But he didn’t speak, so Nami added, “If you don’t remember, I’ll just have to tell you.
“Maybe you don’t care because you don’t remember, so you don’t know how awful it was, watching you push Luffy out of the way, watching you cough-up blood as bullets rained-down on your chest, your stomach…
“You don’t know how much it hurt, watching Luffy have a mental-breakdown as he held your body in his arms. He was shaking all-over, Sanji-kun. We all tried to calm him down, and it was only until Chopper promised to save you that he could even breathe, and—”
“Please stop, Nami-san,” said Sanji wearily, a hand buried in his hair, fingers digging painfully into his skin. Sanji was pitiable in this moment of weakness, so Nami remained quiet and closed her eyes.
She couldn’t bring herself to inform him that Luffy had remained by Sanji’s side in the infirmary, refusing to leave the room. That Luffy, sick from worry, had refused to eat unless it was Zoro who had forced him to do so. Nami also recalled that she had often come by at night and found him unable to sleep until she had sat beside him and laid his head on her lap, brushing her fingers absent-mindedly through his hair.
She could never relay any of this to Sanji; the knowledge would destroy him, and he was already so tattered on the inside.
Nami stood-up and walked toward the door. Before leaving, she retrieved the pocket-lighter and box of cigarettes and waved them in the air. “Are you sure you don’t want these, Sanji-kun?”
“Yeah,” replied Sanji. “I don’t want to upset Chopper with my selfishness.”
Selfishness? repeated Nami. She laughed bitterly. “You know, Sanji-kun, there are times when I wish you were at least a little selfish.”
She didn’t wait for Sanji’s response as she wrenched the door open and stepped out.
III
Just as Nami had claimed responsibility for the cooking, Usopp had offered to deliver meals to the infirmary. It wasn’t nearly as arduous as feeding nine people thrice daily, and thus not an impressive task, but Usopp appreciated the opportunity to visit Sanji without appearing too concerned for his well-being.
Today, Nami had baked a delectable cake for tea, and Usopp was to take a slice to Sanji. Of course, Chopper had placed hefty restrictions on Sanji’s diet and insisted on performing inspections to guarantee the safety of all food, so Usopp had to endure five long minutes of the doctor’s scrutiny before he was able to haul the tray over.
The cake was lemon-flavoured, with thick icing cutting through the center like a yellow ribbon, and delightful citrus syrup glazing its surface. A candied tangerine peel dusted with icing sugar had been twisted into an ornate rose and settled on top. Usopp was tempted to stuff the sugary topping into his mouth; Sanji wouldn’t miss what was never his, he told himself. Fortunately, he managed to muster some restraint.
Sanji, despite the obsequious adulation he showered upon Nami and Robin (and every other pretty woman, the lecher), was naturally unpleasant toward men; Usopp tried not to be too annoyed when, upon entering the infirmary, he was greeted by Sanji with an ungracious, “Oi, Usopp, the hell are you doing here again?”
“Geez, you’re a real jerk, you know? I’m just bringing you food.” Usopp walked over to Sanji’s bed and placed the tray onto his lap. “Between you and me, this stuff would’ve turned-out much better if you were the one in the kitchen.”
Sanji grinned. “No, shit. I am a first-rate chef, after all.”
Usopp laughed. “Yeah, well, tell that to Zoro.”
“That algae shit-head said something about my cooking?” Sanji asked, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “What, exactly?”
“Oh, just some stupid complaints and stuff.” Usopp said dismissively. However, Sanji glared pointedly, so he continued with haste. “You know, like, ‘It’s a good thing he busted himself up, because I’m not in the mood to stomach his crap.’”
When Sanji merely gritted his teeth, Usopp scratched his head nervously. It was beyond him why the man was so sensitive to anything that concerned his ability to cook. “Come on, Sanji, don’t let it get to you. Deep-down, Zoro knows your food’s incredible. Everyone does.” He paused, then added, “Especially Luffy.”
To Usopp’s dismay, the encouragement had an undesirable effect on the chef, whose brown eyes softened in what seemed to be sadness as he murmured, “Luffy…” Usopp was tempted to strike himself as he recalled that Sanji had been missing their captain for over a week. “Where’s Luffy right now?”
Usopp had encountered Luffy earlier that morning. He had been sitting atop the ship’s fence outside, his body threatening to fall into the ocean as his legs dangled dejectedly over the edge. He had not spoken when Usopp approached him. In fact, he had not spoken much at all since the argument.
Of course, Usopp would never willingly relay any of this, so he simply replied, “He’s outside. You know, I can call Luffy in here if you want to see him.”
“When the hell did I say that I wanted to see him? Don’t pull shit out of your ass.”
“I thought—”
“You thought wrong. Luffy ain’t comin' in here, and that’s fine by me. He can do whatever he wants.”
Despite the claim, his features were twisted painfully as he spoke, his tone unnatural and the words spat forcibly. Usopp was renowned for his own falsehood, so he noticed immediately the contrived nature of Sanji’s speech. Boy, was he a terrible liar.
But Usopp thought it a bit hypocritical to acknowledge the lie, so he instead said, “You weren’t paying attention to Luffy’s feelings when you got yourself shot.”
Sanji’s irises grew black with vexation. “That’s not the same thing.”
“Aren’t you looking at this backwards?” said Usopp, despite fearing Sanji’s temper. “You’re not the only one who would risk your life for Luffy. Everyone on this ship would do that! But you’re the only one who jumped recklessly in front of him without thinking of a better way! There’s a fine line between protecting Luffy and being an idiot, Sanji!”
Usopp closed his eyes, bracing himself for the typical eruption of hot anger. He was taken aback, however, when Sanji merely sighed in response, burying a hand in his hair to mask his expression. In that fleeting instant, he appeared fragile and brittle. It was almost comforting, knowing that there hid weakness within a man whose unwavering strength brought foes to their knees, a man in whom Luffy’s faith was limitless. It was almost odd; for so long, Usopp could watch Sanji only with admiration and envy. Now, he watched him with understanding and sympathy. Not that Sanji could ever accept any sympathy, of course.
Finally, Sanji said, “Maybe I was born an idiot, then.” He chuckled bitterly.
“Isn’t that why Luffy chose us? Because we’re all born idiots?”
“... Yeah,” muttered Sanji with a wistful smile. Sinking into his pillow, he closed his eyes and remained silent.
Maybe it doesn’t matter, Usopp told himself desperately. Maybe strength is overrated.
Luffy didn’t choose any of us because of our strength, and the proof’s right here.
IV
Though the sun continued to rise at dawn and set at dusk, and the moon continued to draw circular orbits around the earth, within the windowless confines of the infirmary, Sanji’s world had grown stagnant.
He knew rationally that time was still flowing, that another morning had arrived when Usopp had walked in once again with the breakfast-tray. Nevertheless, the world was two weeks ahead, and Sanji thought he would continue to fall behind.
Atop a small table by Sanji’s bedside rested a glass vase that was partially-filled with soil; a gift from Robin, no doubt. Within it grew a small plant that sported lovely flowers, each with rich azure petals and a pale yellow center. Sanji was filled with pleasant warmth as he recalled the day he and Luffy had watched Robin plant the blue flowers in the garden; “Morning glory,” she had called them.
(“These flowers remind me of you, Sanji!”
“You dumb-ass, humans and flowers can't look alike.”)
The flowers were slightly wilted along the edges, the petals curling slightly inward. A dying plant. It was understandable. Robin had explained that the flower required constant exposure to sunlight, which the infirmary could not provide. She must have understood this, thought Sanji. It bothered him to know that the crowning-jewel of her precious garden had been wasted on him.
Sanji listened in vain for the sounds of rambunctious laughter that would normally echo throughout the Sunny at any given time of the day; the past two weeks had offered nothing but cold, unfamiliar silence in the wake of his argument with Luffy. Perhaps the others felt that they could hardly laugh while their captain frowned.
Though he would never—could never —admit it, Sanji did wish to see Luffy. Each day that had gone by without a glimpse of his captain had felt unnatural to him. He had always taken Luffy’s presence for granted, had sometimes found it an annoyance, even. It was said that one could not understand the value of a thing until it was lost to him. Perhaps he was feeling now as he had done for two years in that Hell, when he was alone.
You fucking idiot, Sanji told himself. Why the hell are you feeling that way? Luffy’s the one who’s overreacting, Luffy’s the one who’s turned that incident into a much bigger deal than it actually is, you’ve done nothing wrong, it isn’t worth it, and Luffy’s the one who doesn’t get it…
He believed himself less with every word.
...
When Zoro strode into the room later that day, his green hair unkempt and his three swords tied carelessly around his waist, Sanji was fit to burst with irritation. That’s not to say he was not surprised; unlike the others, Zoro had not come to visit Sanji in the infirmary since the argument with Luffy. Normally, the swordsman’s presence would have been a pleasant surprise, but Sanji thought only of the moss-ball’s insult to his cooking as he glared heatedly at his unwanted guest. “Get out,” he spat.
Unfazed, Zoro snorted. “Hard to feel intimidated when you’re lying in bed, ero-cook. Not to mention that your eyes don’t have half the fire they usually do.”
“Fuck off.”
Zoro sank onto the floor, leaning against the wall as he folded his arms behind his head and closed his eye. His apparent nonchalance further vexed Sanji, who gritted his teeth and said, “Why the hell are you even here?”
Zoro’s eye remained closed as he said, “’Cause you’re an idiot who can’t solve his own problems.”
“Problems?” Sanji repeated incredulously. “The day I come to an idiot like you for problem-solving-help is the day I kick a woman. And that’s assuming I’ve even got damn problems.”
“You know, you’re an even worse liar than Usopp,” Zoro retorted. “In case you’re too thick to have noticed, Luffy hasn’t spoken to you for a week. If you ask me, that’s a problem. Unless, of course, you don’t care.”
Sanji flinched; Zoro’s accusation was as lethal and jarring as a sword, piercing through his chest with a painful jab. Before his expression could betray him, he turned his head away sharply. Why does it feel like this? he asked himself. I shouldn’t be caring, not when I’m not to blame, not when I told Usopp that I was fine with all this…
“I have no idea why I’m spelling this out for you.” drawled Zoro, interrupting Sanji’s thoughts. “As stupid as you are, you probably know, don’t you?”
“Know what, exactly?”
Zoro sighed, closing his eye once more as he shook his head exasperatedly. “That Luffy won’t show up because he’s waiting for you.”
The revelation wasn’t shocking, and didn’t evoke the surprise that Sanji was expecting. Instead, it reinforced a truth that he had buried within him, a truth he had wanted to keep hidden. So Sanji only looked at his hands, furling and unfurling callused fingers as he said quietly, “I did know that. I knew that all along.”
“You know what to do, then,” Zoro said. It was not a question.
Sanji didn’t respond. Instead, he gazed at the radiant morning glory and its azure petals, already beginning to wilt amidst the darkness of the infirmary. Perhaps Sanji would also begin to wilt if he lingered in this room, where the sunlight’s warmth could not reach him.
Zoro stood up, brushing-off his pants. “I guess I’m done here.” But as he reached for the doorknob, Sanji finally spoke.
“Why the hell are you doing this?”
Zoro paused, a single brown eye ablaze as he turned to face Sanji. “Get off your high-horse,” he scoffed. “I didn’t do it for you.”
And he left, leaving a smiling chef in his wake.
V
Sanji set foot onto the lawn deck, taking in his surroundings like a drowning man gasping desperately for air. Dawn had only just arrived; the sun crept steadily from behind the distant horizon, and the picture of a magnificent sky was painted with gentle strokes of orange and blue. The Sunny was encapsulated by the vast, crystalline waters of the Grand Line that spanned the across the entirety of his view. As the waves crashed against the ship, their roars resonated across the ocean. Sanji didn’t quite realize how much he had yearned for the sight of the sea until now.
Luffy lay in the middle of the deck, body spread-eagled and hair disheveled. His straw hat, pressed onto his chest, was wrapped firmly within his arms. His features glowed beneath the lambent rays of sunlight as he stared blankly at the sunrise firmament, his face devoid of expression. If Luffy had noticed Sanji’s arrival, he did not react discernibly.
Sanji approached Luffy quietly, his bare feet tickled by wet blades of grass. As he laid himself down beside his captain, he said, “If you’ve got a problem with me being here, I’ll leave.”
“I’m not mad at you,” Luffy replied without looking at Sanji. “And I don't want you to leave.” His tone was flat.
At that moment, Sanji could not muster a response; all words had failed him. Perhaps words could hardly hope to convey the river of emotion that flooded within him. It was a mixture of immense relief, guilt, and myriad other feelings that he could not identify.
A long silence ensued before Luffy finally asked, “Does Chopper know you’re here?”
Sanji shook his head. “Nobody does. I made sure to leave the bed when everyone was asleep. Chopper would have my hide if he knew I was here.”
“So why did you come?”
“I…” began Sanji hesitantly, but he simply did not know how to continue. Over the course of his life, he had grown accustomed to hiding his intense feelings beneath a facade of nonchalance. It was a survival mechanism—an instinct he had developed in response to his miserable childhood. Circumstance had molded him into a hopeless liar.
However, Sanji knew that any dishonesty would be futile here. He may have lied to Nami, to Usopp, to Zoro, to himself, but Luffy was the one person before whom he would always be transparent. So he finally said, “... I came because I couldn’t stand it anymore. You and me, being on the same ship and not even talking to one another… I know I’m being selfish, because I should be in the infirmary, but—”
“Sanji.” interrupted Luffy. “You’re always like this.” He lifted his arms into the sky, hands furled into tight fists, and began to count on his fingers. “Back at the Baratie, when you thought you could repay your debt to that old gramps by dying.”
Sanji clenched his teeth. He was not fain to remember.
“Or,” his captain continued, “back when we got separated, and you let yourself get attacked by that bear-guy, even though I told you to run. Or in Whole Cake Island, where you went to deal with your problems all alone, even though you knew you were gonna be killed. Or a few days ago—”
“Luffy, just shut up,” murmured Sanji weakly. “I already know.”
“But,” Luffy added, finally turning to face the chef with a smile etched upon his face, “that’s just how you are, right?”
“... Yeah,” said Sanji softly, recalling the day in the cold rain, when despair had almost consumed him. It had been those very words that had rescued him from his pain, and it had been that very smile whose warmth had dried his tears. Even now, the tension that had been crawling within him was dissipating beneath the radiance of Luffy's grin.
“And I know you’re never gonna stop,” continued his captain, “so I’ll make you promise never to do that kinda thing ever again.”
Sanji shook his head gravely. “I can’t do that.”
“You have to.”
“I can’t,” repeated the chef wearily. “I spent two years training in that shitty Hell so that I’d be strong enough to defend this ship… Even if it costs me my life.”
After all, I sure don’t have much to lose.
Luffy paused for a brief moment before he frowned and said, “That’s stupid.”
The remark was unexpected, and Sanji was taken aback. “What?”
“That's stupid,” insisted Luffy. “You want to protect us by dying?” He lifted his gaze to the skies. “Ya know, Sanji, Robin once told me about this thing called ‘The Green String of Fate’—”
Sanji rolled his eyes. “Actually, it’s ‘red,’ not 'green.’ Don’t you ever get names right?”
“Yeah, that!” his captain exclaimed. “Anyway, it’s sorta like us, isn’t it? I’m connected to you—to all you guys. I mean, we’re both tied together.” Lacing nimble fingers through Sanji's, he raised their intertwined hands above their heads. Sanji could feel the multitudinous creases that decorated his small palms, all remnants of the countless battle scars that Luffy had acquired for the sake of others.
“So I can’t let anything happen to you,” said Luffy, with a rare display of solemnity. “’Cause without you all by my side, I can’t do anything.”
No… Sanji wanted to speak aloud. That's not true. It’s just like that time before the wedding, when I brought you that failure of a meal… Why are you always such a liar, Luffy?
Sanji turned his head toward his captain, and whispered hoarsely, “You always say this sort of thing. You always go so far.” He inhaled sharply, his breathing tremulous. The river of emotion that surged within him threatened to spill from his eyes. “Even though it’s not worth it.”
Luffy blinked slowly before sitting-up on the grass and peering at the chef, his head tilted to one side. Then, without warning, he took his straw hat into his hands and placed it upon Sanji’s head.
To an outsider, such an act would have been ostensibly meaningless. To Sanji, however, the simple gesture carried an ocean of meaning. Saying nothing, he clasped the rim of the hat and pulled it further over his eyes, as if it were an extension of his captain’s embrace.
“There are lots of things that aren’t worth anything,” Luffy said. “Like a Pirate King without his crew.” Suddenly, he smiled widely, and Sanji felt his own lips tilting upward in response. “You’re not allowed to get hurt while you’re wearing my hat, so you can hold onto it for me. Deal?”
“... Deal.” murmured Sanji.
It was a lie, of course. He could never be in earnest when promising such a thing. It was a notion that he could affirm with absolute certainty; as long as the sun continued to rise in the east and set in the west, and the earth continued in its orbit, and the moon continued to manipulate the tidal waves, Sanji would always choose Luffy over himself. Though he truly did not remember the events of that day, three weeks ago, he knew that it was a reflex, an instinct, a compulsion that had driven him to throw himself into harm's clutches for Luffy’s sake.
Surprisingly, Sanji did not feel a shred of remorse for his dishonesty. He told himself that he was only returning Luffy’s favour, that it was a fair price to pay.
Because, when it came to Sanji, Luffy, too, would always be
a liar.
La Fin
|
Thursday night, Pidge says, “I hate you so much. Remember when you used to be fun? Fall semester? Good times.” She slams a shot glass down on her desk, right beside Keith slumped over it with his head in his hands, rocking back and forth a little in the horrendously uncomfortable dorm chair. Tequila slops over the side and she throws a lime wedge at his head. It gets stuck in his hair.
“I have to text him,” Keith says without moving. “I have to tell him I’m not go—“
“Shut up,” Pidge says. She throws a pen at him next and it bounces to the floor. “I literally don’t care about your drama anymore.”
Keith groans. He sits up just enough to take the shot, fetching the lime from his hair, and when the glass hits the desk again, Pidge refills him. “C’mon,” she says, nudging it toward him with a knuckle. “If you drink enough, you’ll stop being stupid and I can go get laid.”
“You’ve definitely been nicer to me.”
“Right,” Pidge says, voice drier than sun-bleached pavement. “Because your life is so tragic since you found out the boy you like likes you back. Take the shot, Kogane.”
He obeys, if only because he came here to pregame and he’s not going to wimp out after just one shot, even though the taste of the cheapest tequila Pidge could bribe a senior into buying for her makes his throat want to close up in disgust. Keith coughs through it.
Pidge crunches on a potato chip and flips through something on her phone, white screen reflected in her glasses. She looks so utterly content with the world that Keith is immediately jealous—he didn’t ask for any of this emotional turmoil when he decided to sleep with Shiro the first time, second time, or any of the rest. Even the
thing
that almost happened in Target that he doesn’t want to talk about ever again was supposed to be a distraction from emotions, not an instigating factor for more of them.
The image of Shiro’s wide eyes when a Target employee knocked awkwardly on the door just as Keith’s hand started to slide below his waistband is second in Keith’s mind only to his nervous, happy giggle once they were left alone again.
He can hardly admit it, but Shiro is
incredibly
cute. Maybe it’s the floppy hair.
“Guess we’ll have to pick this up tomorrow, huh?” Shiro had whispered, tucking his forehead into the side of Keith’s neck. His hair tickled, his hands stroked carefully up and down Keith’s sides under his shirt, and his breath brushing against Keith’s skin coincided with an unfortunate thump of Keith’s heart.
“Guess so,” Keith breathes. He closes his eyes against the ceiling’s judgement.
Shiro didn’t stop laughing to himself and looking at Keith with pleased, secretive grins the whole time spent wandering around Target, not until he dropped Keith back off with plastic bags in hand. So cute. Whether or not he actually bought or tried on anything clothing remains a mystery. Keith wishes the rest of the shopping trip wasn’t quite so hazy in his memory, but Shiro dropping emotional bombs seems to have that sort of effect on him. It’s an unfortunate circumstance.
What Keith hates about the whole thing is, surprisingly, not the fact that he can’t ignore Shiro’s feelings anymore—there’s no way to misinterpret the words “I really like you” or that Shiro thinks there’s the potential for something between them, something more. Maybe Keith has been willfully dense so far, but there’s only so much he can do to remain firmly in denial under these circumstances. No, instead, now Keith needs to do some sort of damage control. He needs to get his life back in order.
“He likes me, Pidge,” Keith says. His finger traces out a wet circle of spilled tequila on her desk.
“You are the
last
person to figure that out.”
Keith groans and drops his forehead to the desk. “If I go to this party I’m just gonna sleep with him again.”
“Bummer.”
He ignores Pidge’s tone. “I can’t lead him on like that,” Keith says, but his heart just . . . isn’t in it. “Pidge, we’ve had sex like, like five times, and he thinks we’re basically dating. I can’t break up with him when we’re not even together!”
Pidge sighs deeply. “Remember how I invited you to Shabbat tomorrow? This is me taking that back. We’re not friends anymore.”
“You were the one who told me to go sleep with him in the first place,” Keith grumbles, but when she ignores him, he takes it with grace.
He gets it. This is Keith’s own problem to deal with, his own emotional turmoil. It’s arguably all his fault for leaving Shiro his phone number in the first place, but he did that hoping for nothing more than a second hook up with the hottest person he’s ever slept with. Some sexting, maybe. Not weird dinner dates, Target trips, and way too many cat pictures with cutesy comments.
It doesn’t take Pidge more than thirty seconds to break down and insert herself into Keith’s life again. Thank god for her.
“Okay,” Pidge says, nudging her glasses back into place. “This is the absolute last serious thing I’m going to say about your crap, so listen up. He likes you, romantically. You like him, undefined. You both like sleeping together. Is it really a bad thing if you just
tell him
you want to keep doing what you’re doing and take things slowly? It doesn’t have to be a big thing. Do a trial run, and if it turns out that neither of you are getting what you need out of it, well.” Pidge shrugs.
Keith accepts the gravity of the words she prefaced the question with and considers it. It doesn’t take him a lot of time to admit that she’s right. It’s not as if Shiro is asking him to choose between a June wedding or never seeing each other again; he’s an open-minded kind of guy who’s confessed some romantic feelings but hasn’t demanded anything of Keith.
It’s not a big deal. It doesn’t have to be the big, scary thing Keith has built up in his mind.
“Do you think he would agree with that?” Keith asks.
“Nope, sorry, you’ve used up the last of my empathy. Drink up, my dude, we have a party to attend.”
***
Keith walks into the party feeling like less than hot shit, tipsy off the tequila Pidge managed to cram down his throat and way too anxious about what he’s going to say to Shiro when they manage to be in the same room together. This time, Pidge doesn’t have to bully the door guy to let him in as her brother’s guest—instead, Keith gets an assessing look and a scoff from a short, pointy freshman who recognizes him as ‘the guy Shiro’s been hanging out with.’ Keith isn’t sure where
that
language came from, but he ignores the smug stare and the comment that he’d better get on in there before Shiro gets sad he didn’t show.
Whatever.
“Alright, bye,” Pidge says as soon as they're in the door, but Keith grabs her arm to stop her.
“Where are you going?” Keith says, shouting to make himself heard over the booming music and all the people in the house. The volume shocks him every time he goes to a party.
Pidge rolls her eyes. “You think I'm going to stick around watching you make eyes at Shiro? Fuck no. I'm getting laid tonight, and that’s not gonna happen within a ten-foot radius of you being a loser. Bye.”
Keith curses under his breath as she slips off. He loves Pidge, he really does, but her tolerance for anything she considers ridiculous is low on a good day, and his boy problems have definitely overstayed their welcome in her life.
He sighs, glancing around the dim lit room—he
has
been annoying lately, he knows that. So far, Keith’s ignored every piece of advice and warning from Pidge, and that’s not very good friend behavior when he knows she has nothing but his best interests in mind. Pidge isn’t the kind of person who would lie to make him feel better, and just because she knows Shiro vaguely through her brother doesn’t mean she’s any more of an expert on him than Keith is.
Keith resolves to be a better friend in the future, starting tonight by leaving her to her hunt.
That leaves Keith on his own to fix his problems, though, which he isn’t totally in love with either. He still can’t figure out what he’s going to even
say
to Shiro when they see each other—something friendly but not overly flirty, not rude, polite, nothing that’s going to lead to them falling into bed together, at least until Keith manages to have a real talk with him and say that he doesn’t want a relationship but he likes where they’re at. Keith can’t let Shiro distract him before he spits it all out, or else that means he’s going to lose another night to the hypnosis induced by the sight of Shiro’s naked body. Keep it casual, keep it real. Keith can do that.
Game plan set.
***
Shiro gets the drop on him by appearing out of nowhere during Keith’s journey to the kitchen for alcohol, gathering Keith up into his arms to slide a hand into the back pocket of his jeans and kiss him hard and sloppy. His eyes are glassy when he pulls away with a laugh, purple snapback askew from the proximity of Keith’s face. He’s drunk.
“Be my partner,” Shiro says before anything else, hands squeezing Keith’s waist and ass. It’s way too much touching for the number of people they’re surrounded by, but Keith sinks into it, helpless. God, he really shouldn’t have had so much tequila before coming here, because his head is already spinning and Shiro’s towering height makes Keith feel unsteady on his feet. Shiro’s body is a walking sexual identity crisis, and it’s
all
up against him. Keith thinks about groping Shiro’s chest and finds that his hand is already doing the work for him, sketching out the lines of hard muscle that enraptured Keith from the start and taunting Keith with what he can’t yet have.
“Be what?” Keith asks, distracted. The thin white cotton of Shiro’s shirt hangs off his shoulders, the sides cut out to bare skin all the way down to the waist of his stupidly tight jeans. Keith is crazy about Shiro’s apparent hatred for clothing with sleeves, but thank god it’s not neon today.
“My
partner
,” Shiro says, snagging Keith’s wandering hand in his own. Big hands. Big heart. Big—
“Oh shit,” Keith says, his eyes going wide. No, nope, this cannot be happening—Keith has
just
managed to talk himself into gently but firmly telling Shiro he’s flattered but doesn’t want a relationship and now Shiro is talking about partners and commitment and this isn’t going to work at all unless they—
“I told a freshman I would kick his ass,” Shiro continues, totally oblivious to Keith’s panic. The caveman part of Keith’s brain is upset by this sentence—he’s talking about someone else’s ass while fucking
massaging
Keith’s, what in the world is this? But obviously the two aren’t connected, and it’s also not connected that Keith doesn’t feel the bite of relief at Shiro’s words. Clearly, they’re thinking about different things. “I hope you’re good at beer pong.”
What.
“But I’m a freshman too,” Keith says weakly. Shiro just laughs and mashes his mouth into the side of Keith’s head while he does it. He’s a handsy, touchy drunk, no surprise there.
“A rival freshman,” Shiro says, and then they’re off.
Shiro pulls him down the cramped basement stairs after a second kiss that steals Keith’s breath and triples the haze in his mind. The stairs, lined with people drinking and screaming at each other to be heard over the music, are dark and apparently endless; Keith has to brush against far too many people on his way down. It gets quieter as they go, until only the deep bass of the music reverberates through the floors and the rest of the noise comes from a group of people crowded around two long tables.
Ever gracious, Shiro snags them a couple of solo cups and fills them from the keg sitting in the corner, and Keith resists the urge to wrinkle his nose at it. He might consistently drink the cheapest liquor in existence, but cheap beer is an affront to his humanity.
Shiro makes introductions as they approach the table and integrate themselves into the crowd. Keith has to watch Shiro give out those weird little bro hugs at every turn before he turns to Keith and says a name Keith promptly forgets to save his own skin. These are all Shiro’s brothers, mixed in with a couple of their partners and some friends of the frat—Keith qualifies in that category now, he imagines.
“And this,” Shiro says, clamping his hand down on another guy’s shoulder and winking at Keith, “is our challenger. Keith, meet—”
“You.”
Keith blinks in surprise at the venom coming out of his mouth. The first thing Keith notices about him is that he has a lot of cowlicks for as short as his hair is, reminding Keith of the reason he keeps his own grown out, and the second is that he’s
very
mad.
“Come on, Shiro, are you doing this just to torture me? I thought we were friends, buddy, like Shiro-and-Lance buddies, know what I mean?”
Whiny,
Keith scoffs in his head. “And they said hazing ended after initiation! I swear I’m gonna—”
“What?” Shiro asks, and Keith gets distracted by the little line of confusion between his eyes. “Do you guys know each other?”
Keith’s answer
no
is lost underneath the explosion of disdain. “Know each other? We’re rivals! And if I had known he was the one you’d be playing with, I would’ve doubled the stakes. Tripled them!” Shiro squints at Lance as if studying him, and then he tosses Keith an uncertain glance.
Keith isn’t so drunk as to completely lose sight of the world around him, so he’s pretty certain he doesn’t know this guy. “Uh, who are you?” he asks, trying his best to be polite.
“Ha ha, very funny,” the Lance says, scowling. He crosses his arms and gives Keith an unimpressed look. “We were in the same orientation group? Opposing team captains in capture the flag? We’re
rivals?”
“Uh,” Keith says. He vaguely remembers a game of capture the flag, and even hazier is the memory of their orientation leader making him team captain in order to encourage him to spread his wings or something and interact more with the other students. But Lance is a total blank spot.
Lance gapes at him. “Are you kidding me?” he says, arms exploding into a pinwheel around his body. “We—we’re in calculus together!”
“Well, I don’t even know anyone in that class,” Keith says, impatient. “Sorry I don’t remember you, okay, but I think this is the first time we’ve actually talked. And we’re not rivals.”
Shiro’s awkward laugh cuts through the oncoming tirade that Lance is clearly working up, his hand on the small of Keith’s back pressing harder. “Are we playing or what?” he asks, gesturing with the hand that holds his beer, sloshing around in its cup. Keith takes a drink as if on instinct and regrets it immediately. “Who’s your partner, Lance?”
Lance puffs up and then deflates like a baby bird. He opens his mouth to say something to Keith, but then snaps it shut and narrows his eyes. Can he make up his mind about anything? “I know what you’re trying to do,” he says, quiet enough that the words are barely audible. “Trying to throw me off my game! But!” He starts yelling again. “Me and my
man
, the light of my life, the peanut butter to my jelly, the Rachel to my Monica—we’re gonna kick your
ass
, and you’ll never forget us! Hey, Hunk!”
Launching himself through the crowd to grab the sleeve of another tall guy in a mustard yellow shirt, Lance leaves Keith feeling like he’s just survived a tornado.
“Huh,” Shiro says, taking another sip of his beer as his eyes follow Lance. “That was weird. He’s usually cool.”
That's not the impression Keith got at all.
“Anyway, Hunk’s cool too—they knew each other in high school and pledged together. Pretty sweet, huh?”
Keith looks up into Shiro’s smiling face and says, “I hope you're not planning on winning, because I've never played beer pong before.”
“But,” Shiro says emphatically, “you have great hand-eye coordination. I would know.”
Despite himself, a blush rises to Keith's face and he ducks his head to hide it. Shiro chuckles, deep in his chest where Keith can feel its vibrations with the way his body is tucked into Shiro's. “Well,” he says, tongue awkward in his mouth. Something about Shiro is throwing him off tonight—the easy hands, maybe, or the fact that when Shiro turns just so, his shirt pulls with him and reveals the hard lines of his pecs and his flat, brown nipples, and Keith isn’t supposed to want him tonight. Tonight is for laying down the law.
“Well,” Keith repeats, steadier after reminding himself of his goals. Don’t get distracted by Shiro’s body. “Are you sure you wanna enlist a freshman with no experience to help you beat another freshman?”
Shiro’s grin melts something inside Keith. “I can’t think of anyone else better to have by my side.”
***
After beer pong, Keith can no longer say he isn’t drunk or that he doesn’t have a rival named Lance.
“But
only
in beer pong,” he says to Lance before they part ways, stabbing him in the chest with one finger. Keith and Shiro won, of course, as if there was ever any doubt about Shiro’s ability to pick up the slack and make them champions, but even though Lance is also terrible at the game, he’s still marginally better than Keith. Keith doesn’t know anything about calculus or capture the flag, but Lance is definitely his beer pong rival.
“Hey, Shiro,” he says at the base of the stairs. “Is there anyone else in this frat who’s secretly obsessed with me?” Keith can’t take any more of these surprises.
Shiro just snorts. “Obsessed? Not as far as I know,” he says into the shell of Keith’s ear. The party isn’t so loud down here that he needs to be quite that close, but Keith is
drunk
. They both are. He doesn’t need a better reason. “I do know you promised me a dance.”
“I didn’t. I can’t dance,” Keith says immediately.
Shiro laughs. “I bet you can,” he says. “Bet you look good doing it.”
Keith doesn’t know the first thing about dancing, but he knows about that look in Shiro’s eye, and it’s never given him something he didn’t want.
So Keith dances in the middle of a sweltering pit of bodies crammed inside the main room, acting like the creaky floors are a real dance floor. He’s awkward and stilted at first, but it’s not as if Shiro is that great at it either, it turns out, and when another drink winds its way into Keith’s hand, he throws it back and tosses himself into dancing. It’s the most fun he’s had in—in a while. It’s not sexy dancing, or whatever, not like the various couples surrounding them that Keith sees grinding all over each other out of the corner of his eye. It’s fun and ridiculous and involves a
lot
of Shiro tripping over his own feet and making it look fun. Shiro grabs both of Keith’s hands in his and whirls him around, tries to get Keith to do the same for himself but his arm isn’t long enough to reach over Shiro’s head without them both falling over out of drunkeness. Shiro stumbles and turns it into another dance.
“That’s terrible!” Keith shouts, laughing even as the crowd swallows up his voice. Shiro throws him a wink as he continues to throw elbows and knees in some weird dance approximation of running, too jerky to be on the beat.
Shiro mouths something at him. Shaking his head, Keith laughs some more and he pushes his sweaty bangs off his face, the heat of the dancefloor exhausting him in the most exhilarating way. Shiro blows him a kiss and takes his hands again, spinning them around in a circle so offbeat that Keith can’t fathom this is dancing anymore. The closeness, the warmth, the familiarity—it sings in Keith’s gut, mixing with the alcohol and turning him into someone sappy and ridiculous. He wants to kiss the toothy grin off Shiro’s face, wants to snatch his stupid hat away and bury his fingers into Shiro’s hair.
Tequila turns it into the best idea he’s ever had.
Keith grabs Shiro’s face between his hands and drags him down. Shiro laughs into the kiss—he won’t stop
laughing,
it’s so distracting—and wraps his hands arms around Keith enthusiastically. The deep beat of the music pulses through Keith and the crowd fills in the space around them quickly, but all he can focus on is the scratch of Shiro’s stubble against his palms and the thrill he gets from Shiro’s touch.
He can’t stop. Or maybe he doesn’t want to. But he kind of . . . is unable to detach himself from Shiro’s mouth, and the crowd shuffles them to the back wall while Keith isn’t paying attention.
The last reasonable thought Keith has is that he can’t sleep with Shiro in a crowded room, so he hasn’t broken his promise to himself. They can make out, then talk,
then
sleep together, which is the ideal chain of events, and before the serious stuff happens, Keith has plenty of time to climb Shiro like a tree.
Dancing is whatever, but Keith can’t help but be attracted to Shiro’s easy confidence and the joy he takes in being clumsy and happy, even with all eyes on him. Sexual attraction is ridiculous, a completely untamable beast, and Keith can’t change the fact that his body sees some loser with huge thighs and biceps doing the running man and decides he needs to jump him immediately. Totally out of Keith’s control.
But fuck, does he love kissing Shiro. Keith has daydreams about Shiro’s lips, how full and soft they are and how good they are at taking Keith to pieces. How kissing them usually means his body pressed against Shiro’s, their limbs tangled up together, and new, perfect bruises down Keith’s neck the next morning.
He slips one hand inside the back of Shiro’s loose shirt to find something to hold onto, even as sweat-slick skin evades his grasp. His nails scrape against skin and Shiro’s hips shove Keith even tighter against the wall, using sheer strength to hold Keith on his tiptoes against the wall.
Keith gives into the urge to wrap a leg around Shiro’s waist, and before he knows it, Shiro is hauling him the rest of the way up so Keith can lock his ankles together behind Shiro’s back. Their mouths lose contact but Keith finds his way to the long, beautiful column of Shiro’s neck. He tastes the salt on his skin and nips at the skin above his Adam’s apple, thrilling at the texture and the feeling of Shiro’s moan vibrating through the thin skin of his throat.
Then an elbow hits Keith in the side,
hard.
He yelps, barely missing Shiro’s bottom lip with his teeth as he jerks away from whoever just decided to give Keith one hell of a not-at-all-sexy bruise. Shiro’s concerned gaze follows his own to the annoyed looking guy standing next to them, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised at Shiro. He looks strangely familiar—looks exactly like Pidge, actually. It takes Keith a moment to realize that this is Pidge’s brother and Shiro’s closest, Matt, who he’s only met in passing once or twice. With a showy nod at the door and an eye roll, Matt disappears back into the crowd.
It’s hard to tell in the light, but Shiro might be blushing as he leads Keith by the hand out of the room, through the crowded halls, and out onto the back deck. Keith has fond memories of this deck.
“Sorry about that,” Shiro says, sheepish. “We technically have rules about couples getting too heavy on the dancefloor.”
Keith just laughs in response, skin prickling at the unseasonably cool air surrounding him. It feels good after the boiling dancefloor, cooling the flush of alcohol in his veins and slowing everything back down to a more manageable level of desire for Shiro. He leans against the wooden railing with both hands braced as he stares out across the yard, emptier than when he had first met Shiro.
“You guys have a lot of rules about where you’re not supposed to screw around,” he says finally glancing back at Shiro.
Snorting, Shiro joins him at the railing, their arms brushing. “It’s a frat house. If we didn’t have rules, it would be a biohazard.”
“Mmm, sexy.”
Keith can’t think of anything to say next, and an awkward air settles over them. The screen door screeches on its hinges and slams shut as the remaining people lingering out back disappear back into the house. In the near silence, Shiro slumps against him, and Keith turns alcohol bleary eyes to watch Shiro put his hand over Keith’s on the railing, his fingers sliding into the spaces between Keith’s with an ease that shocks him to the core. His face flames up suddenly; it’s too intimate to watch the sweep of Shiro’s thumb across the outside of Keith’s small finger.
He clears his throat. “Um. Shiro.”
“Yeah?” Shiro asks.
“I . . . .” But Keith is at a loss. He told himself so many times that he has to suck it up and talk to Shiro like an adult, but he never planned out the words to say. He doesn’t know
what
to say. He doesn’t want to hurt Shiro, who doesn’t deserve that, but he has to say something.
He lets the silence linger for too long, and Shiro takes the reins. “I’m really glad you came tonight,” he says, falling deeper against Keith until he can’t ignore Shiro’s warmth. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun at one of these parties.”
Keith exhales, trying his best to make it come out as anything other than a sigh. God, he can’t do this. “I’m having fun too,” he admits. “But you know what would make it more fun?”
Shiro leans around to look at him, his grin mischievous. “What would?”
“Shots.”
***
Worst idea of his life.
The two of them doing tequila shots in the kitchen turns into eight people doing tequila shots which turns into someone shouting
body shots!
loud enough for even more people to join and suddenly—
Shiro strips off his tank top, hat flying to the ground with it, and it’s not like the shirt was covering all that much skin to begin with, but Keith’s mouth still goes dry at the sight. Low light is especially good to him.
“You wanna?” says Shiro, loose and easy. He holds out a neon green plastic shot glass to Keith and raises an eyebrow in a challenge. What Keith
wants
is to drop straight to his knees and worship Shiro’s body like it deserves, and the desire to gag himself into silence on Shiro’s dick hits him like a freight train.
Keith takes the shot glass instead, and instantly someone is there to fill it to the brim with tequila, liquid dripping onto his fingers. Shiro’s got a lime in one hand, a bowl of salt in the other, and a smirk like he knows exactly how good he looks right now and how much Keith wants to say fuck it all and drag him anywhere away from prying eyes. The fucking pantry would work right now.
Keith’s throat clicks as he swallows heavily. This is an inopportune time to start getting hard in his jeans.
Leaving the salt behind him on the counter, Shiro guides Keith in to his neck with a hand fisted tight in his hair, and Keith licks a wide stripe up the side obediently, tasting sweat and skin over the sudden numbness in his mouth. Grinning from behind the lime caught by his teeth, Shiro sort of slaps the salt onto his skin with one clumsy hand. Keith starts to get an idea.
“Get up on the counter,” he says, advancing until he has Shiro caged in, interest growing in his features.
Shiro hops up, easy, his legs sliding apart for Keith to step right up against the counter, sliding his hands up the corded muscles of Shiro’s thighs. It’s the exact reversal of their first meeting, except this time there’s an openness in Shiro’s body language, and Keith is weak in the knees from realizing it’s only for him. He aches for them to be alone right now—he doesn’t care for the spectacle of the whole thing, but he likes Shiro tucked into this corner, hemmed in by Keith’s body, whose back is to their potential audience.
Keith wants Shiro naked under his hands.
He takes the shot with another long lick up Shiro’s neck, collecting coarse salt on his tongue. Sober, Keith wouldn’t find this hot at all, but there’s something about knowing that underneath the salt sits the taste of Shiro, going down with the shot and then the bite of the lime. The look in Shiro’s eyes is wild, and Keith drops his shot glass to the counter and does what he wishes Shiro had done the first time they met, just as hungry now as then.
Crushing their mouths together, Keith grips Shiro tightly by the waist, fingers digging into his skin and hard muscle, guiding him forward so they can press their chests together. Shiro kisses him back with a sloppy lack of grace, his grip tight on Keith’s ass as if he’s been glued there. Keith doesn’t mind at all.
Shiro breaks it with a wild gasp. “Do another,” he says into Keith’s ear, and he threads a hand through Keith’s hair and drags him down to Shiro’s belly button. Unbidden, a moan falls from Keith’s lips as he licks up the beautifully deep line between Shiro’s abs, watching Shiro sprinkle salt there before he pushes Keith back down. Keith wishes again, as Shiro hands him a full shot glass from god knows where, that he had the guts to shove Shiro bodily into the pantry a few feet to their right and drop to his knees right there. The particular desperation turns over in his belly violently, and his teeth rip through the lime and then latch onto Shiro’s jaw, marking him with a bruise that Keith is
proud
to put there.
God, I want you so bad,
Keith thinks. He can hardly remember the reason that’s a bad thing.
Keith loses his shirt next at Shiro’s insistence so he can mouth his way across the sharpest part of Keith’s collarbone and do a shot of his own. The line of his throat as he swallows and the flash of white teeth as he sneaks the lime from Keith’s mouth hurt to look at.
They kiss again, over and over, until Shiro breaks the chain with a laugh. “Would you believe I’ve never done this before?”
“Body shots?” Keith slurs. That’s definitely a slur. “Me neither.”
“Bet they taste better on you than anyone else in the world,” Shiro says happily. His eyes, glazed, droop closed as he mashes his forehead into the side of Keith’s neck and pulls him ever closer to the counter and Shiro’s body on top of it. Shiro sighs, his hot breath hitting Keith’s bare shoulder. “Y’make me wanna do things I’ve never—never wanted to try before.”
Keith giggles. “Like what?”
Shiro finally drags his head back up to look at Keith. He has beautiful eyes. “My grandpa would be so disappointed if he knew I was letting pretty boys do body shots off me.”
“Just
one
boy,” Keith retorts, pressing a hard kiss to Shiro’s lips. “But I don’t wanna, um, ruin that nice Christian boy vibe. It’s—y’know.” Keith pats Shiro on the chest with a loud thump. He only does it once because he figures some subtle groping is a much better use of his time.
“Actually,” Shiro says, picking Keith’s hand off him and tangling their fingers together, “I’m Buddhist.” He squints at their joined hands and twists them around to see from a different angle.
“No, you’re not.”
Shiro laughs and nudges their foreheads together, the lock of white hair poking out of his backwards hat trying to stick to Keith’s sweaty skin. “I am.”
Keith goes a little cross-eyed trying to stay focused on Shiro’s face, but between the proximity and the alcohol, it’s too difficult to do. “I saw you looking at—at Easter decorations,” Keith says finally, his drunk brain momentarily confused by the words coming out of his own mouth before understanding kicks in. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Shiro repeats, absent minded as he presses a kiss to Keith’s knuckles. “Kiss me some more.”
Keith loses track of how much time they spend making out at the kitchen counter. He guesses either this is an acceptable level of intimacy to be had in the kitchen during a party, or everyone is too drunk to care about the couple tucked in the deepest corner of the room. He doesn’t pull back until his mouth is dry and Shiro’s lips are swollen bright red, a blooming red mark on the other side of his jaw to match the one from earlier. The fact that it’s already that dark means it’s going to be brutal in the morning.
“Should drink some water,” Shiro says as they catch their breath against each other.
The last thing Keith wants in the world is water, not when he’s achingly hard and he can feel against his lower stomach that Shiro is in the same state, but he acquiesces when Shiro nudges him with a knee.
“So responsible,” Keith says, half to himself once they’ve had a glass of water each. It triggers something in his mind, reminds him that tonight he’s supposed to be the responsible one. He has something very important to tell Shiro.
Keith drags Shiro outside again, claiming a need for fresh air and a few more walls between his ears and the endless thumping of the speakers in the main room. He lets Shiro join him at the railing again, only this time Shiro plants one hand on either side of Keith’s body and cages him in a warm, comforting hold. Keith sinks back against him, grateful in what’s now what he would officially consider to qualify as cold weather. He tells Shiro this, that in Arizona this sort of temperature would be hardly tolerable.
“You just want me to stand here and keep you warm,” Shiro says.
“Not true.” Maybe it’s a little true. “Hey. Shiro.”
Shiro nods his head against the back of Keith’s neck. This is it—Keith is going to speak his mind, tell Shiro the truth, and it’s all going to work out fine. Thank you, tequila, for this opportunity.
“I—I really like what we’ve been doing,” Keith says. Starting with the truth. “And I don’t want to, um, mess with it. Because if it’s—well, you shouldn’t fix what’s not broken. Right?”
“Uh,” Shiro says, sounding far too amused. Keith squirms. “Right. I like this too, you know.”
Keith’s fingers are clenched on the railing so tightly they’re starting to hurt. “So we can just—keep going like we are? No pressure? Nothing changes?”
“Of course, Keith,” Shiro says. “I’ve been having a lot of fun with you, you know. More than I’ve had with anyone in a while. I don’t want to change that.” His voice gets smaller as the confession goes on, but Keith brightens at it.
“Me too,” he says, and he means it with every fiber of his being. Shiro, even with all his messy feelings that Keith doesn’t like to meditate on for too long, can still be easy and uncomplicated. To think that Keith built this conversation up in his mind to be some big scary thing—so what if Shiro likes him? So what if Keith doesn’t understand himself enough to name how he feels about Shiro? They’re having fun; no one is getting hurt. Just because Shiro likes him doesn’t mean they’re
dating.
“I don’t want anything else. Just this.”
“Yeah?” Shiro says, voice hopeful. “I don’t want you to think that just because I told you—”
“No,” Keith says in a rush, turning around in Shiro’s arms so he can look happily into Shiro’s eyes without the stupid cloud of feelings hanging over his head for the first time in ages. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
Shiro pecks him on the lips over and over until Keith growls and grabs Shiro’s head again to hold him in place and kiss him like he means business. He sucks on Shiro’s tongue until Shiro takes the lead from him, tipping Keith’s head further back and controlling the kiss with nothing but a slightly straightened spine and a firm grip on Keith’s jaw.
Keith lets Shiro carry him to his bedroom, legs and arms wrapped around Shiro like a spider monkey, uncaring of who’s watching their stumbling exit from the party and up the stairs.
This is exactly what Keith said he wanted.
|
Closing her bedroom door she stood there and watched Tom unravel the rough draft of the house design on their bed. Slowly she approached the bed still taken aback by the conversation they just had and the fact that Tom had deferred such a serious thing to her.
“Michael,” she began, trying to word what she wanted to say properly so it would sound smart.
“Uh-huh,” Tom answered, his tongue squished between his lips as he tried to keep the edges of the paper from rolling back up.
Pepper heard her voice and immediately woke, making noises and demanding that she be held. Claire temporarily left her mission with Tom for Pepper, opening the front of her cage and picking the hedgehog up. Snuggling her to her chest she held Pepper and gave her kisses. A cold wet little nose brushed up against the side of her neck causing Claire to get goosebumps, shuddering a little with a giggle.
He looked up from the large paper and observed her and Pepper. Claire sat cross-legged and placed Pepper in her lap so she was able to look out and see her daddy. Tom gave a half smile and pet the hog a few times causing Pep to make a happy noise in response.
“That’s a bit of a gray area so I referred him to you. I thought if anything you’d know what to make of it.” Tom admitted, tracing a supposed support beam with his finger. “What did you decide?” he asked, looking up from the paper.
The look on his face made Claire rethink her decision and she was hesitant to answer. “Umm, I ugh, I said he could with strict stipulations.”
“Good,” Tom answered with relief, “Very good.”
Pepper decided that right now would be a good time to waddle out from Claire’s lap and right to Tom. The hedgehog waddled across the paper and straight to Tom. Her movements were loud against the paper and Claire was worried that her tiny claws would rip it. Tom picked the hedgehog up and held her in his arms making cooing noises at the animal. Much to Claire’s delight, Tom kept his arm raised flat against his chest so Pepper could rest on his forearm like a little platform.
“That sort of thing…isn’t common but it happens. Although, not when a Luna is present in the pack.” Tom explained somewhat strained. “As I said, it’s a gray area and since you’re the Luna and intimate with both parties I felt it was your decision to make – not mine.”
“Thanks,” Claire muttered, still not sure if what she had decided was for the best. With Tom not really encouraging her over the decision, it left room for pause. “So, gayness in wolves isn’t common?”
“I don’t know really. Pine would know more about the numbers. I’ve never really experienced it before. I mean I knew Michael swung both ways but he usually accosted human men. His affections weren’t directed to another wolf let alone a pack member.” Tom admitted, “I would think claiming another male wolf as a ‘mate’ would be rare. Especially since technically he has a mate already, you.”
“So I made a mistake?” Claire asked seriously, her heart rate increasing.
The discussion over the home design was void for the moment so Tom rolled the paper back up with his free hand. Once the bed was cleared he placed Pepper down in front of them where she sniffed the blankets a few times before leaping back and running around a bit burning off excess energy. She capped off her excitement for freedom by burying herself under the blankets, waddling around under there making it appear that a lump was traveling around their bed before settling close to the corner.
“I don’t think so,” Tom answered, “I think there’s an exception to every rule. If their relationship causes them happiness when not with you, why not? Their relationship doesn’t cause any harm to me, or, the rest of our pack. If anything, it’ll provide some form of relief from the constant pressure you feel.”
Well, yes, she supposed that was true. Claire never really thought of it that way. With Michael and Sebastian busy courting one another she only had to worry about keeping Pine, Tom, and Chris happy. Three was a better number than five.
“Also, I’m aware you kissed Pine, several times actually,” Tom stated casually, playing with Pepper under the covers by moving his fingers around above the blankets. “And no, he didn’t tell me. I’m your alpha – I know these things my dear, you smell like him.”
“I uh, we didn’t do anything else though,” Claire stuttered nervously,
“I already accepted the very real possibility of him joining our pack, we all have. Well, except Chris but that’s to be expected. It’s unspoken because no one wants to admit it out loud that we all went back against our word and accepted another member when we swore we wouldn’t.” Tom informed her, chuckling when Pepper actually caught his fingers from under the blankets and lightly bite them. “Packs are tight-knit sub-communities that normally branch off from the main pack. Although Chris, Mike, and Seb didn’t come from my pack originally we’ve known each other, with the exception of Chris, since childhood. Chris and Mike were mates since they were teens. I think they met during summer vacation or something. Point being – it’s extremely rare for a pack to accept an outside male with no previous deep-rooted ties.”
“I’m sorry,” she sighed,
“For what? You’re not in control of fate. No one could have predicted that the person sent to investigate us would have such an impact on you and our pack. Just like how I met you at that water park so many months back on a whim. Originally I wasn’t even planning on riding that slide. But at the last minute, I turned left instead of walking straight. That sent me right to you.” Tom admitted with a happy smile, “And now here we are. Planning out our forever home on our own piece of pack territory, and in a year or so we’ll have our first baby.”
Pepper crawled out from under the blankets, stretching her long squishy body until she sort of resembled a mini baguette. Yawning once, her hedgehog plopped down flat against the blankets still stretched out with her back legs sticking straight back. Pepper yawned once more and placed her head down between her front paws, closing her eyes and going back to sleep. Claire couldn’t say that she’s seen Pep take this position before. It mirrored something Milo had done after nursing.
“That’s new,” Tom commented in amusement, reaching out to stroke Pepper along her back with his fingers. “She must be really comfortable.” Tom paused a moment admiring the beautiful little creature, “And if you hadn’t of gone for your walk when you had – you’d never have found Pepper or Milo for that matter - two beautiful little creatures that would have perished otherwise.”
“Everything happens for a reason…” Claire smiled,
“Exactly, everything happens for a reason.” Tom smiled back, “You haven’t done anything that made me question your decisions. It seems like you’re able to explore the proper paths in life without taking a wrong turn. I feel that as a Luna coming into her own more and more every day it’s proper to allow you the right to make decisions for the pack. It can’t solely fall on me anymore.”
Pepper rolled onto her side, stretched a little more before curling up a bit like a cat exposing her tummy and four little paws. Her little girl had grown a bit more since she first came here and was now large enough that Claire had to use two hands when holding her and she weighed around 10lbs. Lee said it was a bit unusual for a female hog to get this large but it must be something in her genetics because she was healthy.
Claire stroked her belly with her fingers and Pepper made a sound comparable to a purring. Hedgehogs were such amazing little animals. Her personality and general mannerisms never ceased to amuse her or anyone else for that matter.
“I love you,” Claire told him, looking up from Pepper.
“I love you too, love.” Tom replied, “Now, let’s try and go over the plans for the floor plan before we have hedgehog interruptus once more.”
|
Jack is over thinking it. Ever since he sent a text inviting Mark over to his place, he can’t stop feeling anxious. There isn’t anything logical to be anxious about. Jack had been to Mark’s place quite a few times already, and there is nothing incriminating in his own rented apartment. He stress cleans the whole place anyway, just to be sure.
He really shouldn’t feel guilty over this. Jack is certain he never wants Mark to know what he does for a living. It would change things between them. For the first time in a long while, Jack can’t bear the thought of his work destroying a relationship. Jack can’t lose another person over mindless possessiveness. He has an honest job, damn it! It isn’t like he’s fucking around with other guys for the heck of it!
One month and some spare days. That is all he needs to get through, just one more month of hiding and then Mark will be thousands of miles away and forgotten. Jack would be nothing but fond memories of Mark’s wild gay adventure in his college days, and they would never have to see each other again. It would be wiser to just dump Mark now, before he gets too attached, but Jack just can’t bring himself to do it. Perhaps he had waited too long for that.
Jack is still agonizing over things when he feels his phone vibrating in his jeans’ pocket.
It’s a text from Mark: “Thinking of you <3” with one picture attached. More specifically, it’s a slightly blurry selfie of Mark in some sort of grocery store pointing at Lucky Charms boxes in the cereal aisle.
Jack giggles a bit and responds to the text. “You’re an asshole”.
A few seconds later, he receives a second picture of Mark holding up a bag of potatoes captioned “Found your family.”
Jack takes a selfie showing his middle finger. He tries to look menacing, but the silliness of the situation is too much and he ends up smiling. He sends it to Mark anyway.
“But serious moment now
I’m at the supermarket rn need me to buy anything special for tomorrow?
Thanks for the new background pic btw. :)”
Before Jack can finish typing his reply, he receives another picture: a photo of the personal lubricant and condom shelf followed by “Which one should I get? ;)”
Jack bites his lip and smiles down to his phone. Mark wasn’t going to find any of the good stuff at a supermarket, but it was cute to see him try. “I still have plenty, but thanks. Get me some ice cream for the dessert if you want.”
After they finish their conversation, Jack runs his hands through his hair and tugs at the strands in frustration. Mark being adorable was not helping the situation right now. Jack sinks back against the sofa cushions and wonders if it is normal to want to kiss your phone after receiving text messages.
As soon as the door opens Mark pulls Sean into a tight hug. Sean gets his face smashed against Mark’s chest but doesn’t seem too bothered by it. When they get a little bit of space between them again, Mark is immediately pulled back in by Sean’s arm hooking around his neck and dragging him into a kiss. There’s nothing romantic or sensual about it, it’s just a loud smooch that makes his head feel all floaty and nice.
“Hey, I brought cookie dough ice cream.”
“Aw yeah! See, this is why I like you.” Sean grabs the bag he was carrying and ushers him inside before closing the door behind them.
He guides Mark into his kitchen, if you could call it that. There was barely enough space to exist in that place. All the appliances are cluttered together, and the little bit of counter space is dominated by ingredients that are going to be used for their dinner. Sean opens his freezer and fishes around the plastic bag for the pint of ice cream before Mark can even open his mouth to protest.
Sean’s hand stills for a moment and he looks Mark dead in the eyes, slowly smirking when he pulls out a toothbrush from the bag. “Are ya plannin’ for something special?”
Mark considers denying it but decides against it. Instead he snatches his toothbrush back from Sean and answers his question with a simple “Yeah, sure,” and waggling his brows suggestively. He picks up the ice cream from the bag and stores it in Sean’s freezer himself.
Jack tries asking Mark for help with the cooking process, but there is just not enough space for them both to move around, especially with the oven and knives involved. Mark ends up leaning against the doorframe and just chatting with him.
“I needed this today” Jack sighs. Filming had only just started and it was already a pain in the ass. It had been a long and exhausting day. There is nothing fun about sitting around and waiting for your scenes, or repeating the same lines over and over pretending to be attracted to some random guy, especially without the reward of orgasm at the end of the workday. At least now Jack only has the actual sex left to record.
“Oh, why? Everything okay?” Mark looked at him with those warm brown eyes looking all concerned, for a second Jack considers telling him everything without censoring himself.
Jack bites his lip, “Just missed you, I guess.” Mark smiles at him from the doorway and just leaves it at that.
They end up taking their plates to the living room and eating on the sofa. Sean goes through a few channels on the TV until he lands on some sort of gameshow and just leaves it there.
“Isn’t this the best couch ever?” Sean is sitting in a slouch, half melting into the cushions, half leaning against Mark’s shoulder.
“Oh, I don’t know… I’ve had better.” Mark actually agreed with him. The couch was ridiculously comfortable. It was just way more entertaining to tease Sean.
Sean's mouth drops open and he looks so offended. “How dare you!” Mark can’t hold in his laughter at that ridiculous face. “I’d make you sleep on the couch tonight, but I love it too much to leave you alone with it.”
“I was just kidding! No need to kick me out of bed before we even get to it.” Mark bumps their shoulders together, and it pulls a tiny smile from Sean.
“Yeah, you better be just kidding. I almost want to take this sofa back home with me.”
“Back where?”
“Back to Ireland.” Sean looked at him a little puzzled “I’m going back next month after I finish up my job here.” Mark’s heart drops to his stomach in a second. His emotions must show if Sean’s worried expression was anything to go by. “Did I forget to tell you?”
Mark is speechless. He hasn’t thought about that. Of course Sean would go back to Ireland: he had a whole life and a job there. His time in America, and consequentially his time with Mark, will eventually end.
“I- I guess I just forgot it. Of course you’re going back to Ireland.”
Sean shifts around to look at him in the face, “I guess we never talked about it.” Sean looks down and licks his lips before speaking. “Listen… Mark, I know we’ve been really hittin’ it off for hmm… about a month? I just want you to know that I don’t expect you to continue dating me when I’m off in another continent.”
Mark can hear the blood rushing in his ears. This whole conversation is so uncomfortable it makes his skin crawl.
“I’m not breaking up with you!” Mark speaks a little too loudly “I don’t care if you’re an ocean away from me, I don’t want to lose you before we give this a chance.”
Mark is unable to read Sean’s expression.
“Mark, be realistic!” Sean looks at him with those bright blue eyes and Mark can feel his gaze piercing right into him.
“I’m serious! I don’t care if we have an open relationship, if I only see you through a webcam, if I have to travel just to see you face to face. I want to give it a chance.”
Sean punches his arm lightly and breaks the eye contact to look down, “Stop being so nice, damn it!”
“Listen to me.” Mark tugs on Sean’s fingers until he lets Mark hold his hand. “Just let it happen, alright? There’s no need to cut this short. Let’s just see where it takes us.”
Jack was right. It is definitely too late to let Mark go. If he walks away now, it will only hurt them both. This wasn’t supposed to happen! Mark was supposed to be his little bit of normal fun to pass his time in America and nothing more.
He still feels insecure. What if Mark gets bored of him once they can’t see each other face to face? Jack isn’t used to this relationship stuff. What if he screws it up and Mark leaves him after all? What about his big secret? Jack is already having a hard time resisting telling Mark about his profession. Wouldn’t it just become harder and harder as their relationship lasts longer? What if Mark is just lying to him? Jack looks up and sees Mark’s brown eyes so full of hope.
He could test Mark. Just to know if he is really as interested as he claims to be. “I just have one question for you.” Mark nods and grips Jack’s hand just a little tighter. “Did you really save my picture as your phone’s background?” Mark clumsily scrambles for his phone without letting go of Jack’s hand.
Mark didn’t lie. Jack is definitely in it too deep now. In for a penny…“Ok, I trust you, ya fuckin’ dork. People are gonna think I’m an asshole. Who uses a picture of their boyfriend giving them the middle finger as a background?” Jack has to focus to get through the fear of using the word boyfriend but he can’t back away now.
Mark can see the insecurity in Sean’s expression and smiles reassuringly as a response.
“I guess we can just see where this thing takes us.” Sean wraps an arm around his shoulder and presses their foreheads together. He still seems a little shaken. “Now let’s take a decent picture together so I can use it as my background.” Mark kisses him sweet and deep. He can feel a strange sort of dread on the pit of his stomach. Even after they take silly pictures on Sean’s phone and share cold, sweet kisses between spoonfuls of Ice cream for dessert, Mark has this urge to make these moments count. He doesn’t want to be left behind; he doesn’t want to be forgotten.
That night, Jack feels like a virgin again. Mark is treating him with such care; he is so gentle and passionate that it makes Jack tremble beneath him. Maybe the nerves from earlier are messing with his head and making him more vulnerable, but Jack can’t help shivering and moaning as Mark holds him tight. Mark is being careful not to leave any bruises or marks and Jack wants to scream. He knows he made a fuss about it the first time, but Jack wants to demand that Mark do it anyway, never mind the consequences. It is making him feel incomplete. To counter that feeling, Jack scours his nails down Mark’s skin. He bites and licks and grasps at him so hard it will leave bruises. Mark doesn’t push him away, doesn’t ask him to stop, just keeps fucking him relentlessly and passionately as if trying to make a statement.
Mark is deliberately trying to make him lose his mind …and succeeding.
When he feels the desperation to reach orgasm starting to set in, Jack starts shoving his hips back to dictate the rhythm only to be held down and forced to take the slow torture of Mark’s thrusts.
Jack’s orgasm doesn’t come as a sudden rush. Instead, he can feel the pressure building up in his guts every time the head of Mark’s cock brushes over his prostate. It feels like an eternity, like he is stuck in a constant loop of pleasure. By the end of it, his chest feels heavy and his head is empty.
Once Jack finally comes, he feels it in his whole body: his legs spasm, his hands shake, he throws his head back and feels his heart pounding out of his chest. It’s a long time before he can see straight once again.
He feels Mark’s hips starting to stutter and shoves him away with what little strength he has left in his still shaky limbs. “Pull out, Mark, pull out.” Jack’s voice is shot to shit and he can’t pull a full breath, but he makes himself understood. Mark looks a little worried and complies with his request straight away.
Jack tugs the condom off Mark’s dick and jacks him off fast and hard with the sole purpose of getting him off as quickly as he can. Mark almost doubles over from the intensity, and in no time at all is moaning loudly and coming all over Jack’s body.
Jack closes his eyes and revels in the feeling of being claimed by Mark. He can’t have hickeys or bruises, but at least he can have this.
|
Panting echoed out though the cool night air, each breath coming in a heavy wheeze as a stumbling set of footsteps came to a halt. Knees buckling inward as Zoro used the last of his remaining energy to keep himself upright, right arm cradling a particularly bad injury on his left as he stared down his assailant. One eye completely swollen shut from the brutal fight that had just taken place.
The rocking of the waves on the small marina vessel had Zoro's already unsteady body swaying dangerously while watching the other man near him. Gun sheathed and blade drawn as he really was just having fun with Zoro at this point, the whole evening having been just one large game.
“I'm surprised you're still standing.” The operative noted with a lazy drawl, flipping the blade around in his grip to take a more natural hold as he continued stalking nearer, “What's your name?”
“Roronoa.” Zoro gritted proudly, tasting copper on his tongue faintly as a rather nasty stab wound from their struggle below deck was beginning to get the better of him. Fighting back the faintness twinging his vision as he pushed himself a little more upright to face the other man.
“You're just a kid...” He noted with almost an air of surprise, sounding a little saddened by the notion as he continued, “Still very new to this, aren't you?”
Zoro didn't say anything.
Continuing to cradle his injured body as he glared down the other man confidently, carefully watching for any movement if the man intended to strike again. Much older eyes watched for a lot longer than Zoro would have thought, before he seemed to decide on something. Hand and blade lowering as he murmured, “I'll let you live.”
“No thanks.” Zoro grunted cheekily, lifting his jaw stubbornly as he finally released his injured arm to right himself properly. There was no way he would ever turn his back on somebody that could change their mind and so easily kill him; let alone make him look like a coward for running away. Chest jutting out as he managed, “Scars on the back are shameful.”
Eyes widening in surprise, the other man seemed completely caught off guard by Zoro's reaction before a wide grin split his face as he jeered happily, “Well said.”
And without a second more of hesitation the man was darting forward and bringing his blade down in a swift arch, the steel ripping through his chest in one clean motion. Pain not initially felt as the sharp metal sliced through his skin mercilessly, divided his muscles apart, and even struck bone. Blood immediately gushing from the wound that ran the length of his torso as the blow had him stumbling backwards against the low railing of the boat.
Zoro felt himself falling backwards towards the frothing water below, only the moment his back made contact it was replaced by the stiffness of a mattress. Eyes snapping open as his hands came up to grasp his shirt in large clumps and a tortured gasp was ripped from his throat in a raw, painful scream. Body spasming as he curled in on himself as the memory of the laceration lashed across his mind and body like a hot whip, each flash causing a seizure of pain to lance through him.
Flailing out of bed, Zoro landed hard on his hands and knees as he braced himself while still gasping desperately for any air that he could possibly get in his uninjured lung. The memory of his near evisceration so visceral in his mind as he couldn't calm himself long enough to rationalized that the pain wasn't real. It took several minutes of panicked heaving before he eventually managed to get control over his breathing.
Falling back on his rear, back resting against the edge of the mattress as his hand continued to rest against his body in shock as the painful memories still abated. Unable to properly fathom how the pain that had happened so many years ago could have possibly felt that real.
Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled over to the bathroom of the small hotel and proceeded to splash handfuls of cold water onto his face until he began to feel a little more in control. Padding his face dry with a towel, and as he lowered it, he noted his reflection and the noticeable scar running the length of his body. An old scar that had long since healed since his stubborn, ignorant youth.
Tossing the towel aside with a vengeance, he ambled across the small suite and to the balcony, stepping out into the cool evening air and reaching out for the railing. Resting his hands heavily against it as he allowed his head to drop and his shoulders to rise tensely, finally beginning to realize the symptoms of what had been plaguing him the past couple months. Knuckles turning white in barely restrained anger as the reality of what was happening to him began to sink in.
~X~
Once again Zoro spent the next several weeks in the same early routine as he adapted to life in a cast, however found himself continually dragged into the misadventures of the charming blond and his group of renegade paramedics. Weekends were usually spent bowling and the occasional night had them over at someone's house watching a sport of some kind. One night in particular they spent at Usopp's watching a soccer game and it was the longest Zoro had seen his three boys sit still for.
Morning jogs had become a regular thing once more as his shoulder continued to heal, and it hadn't been long until they were taken over by the blond. Insisting to tag along for a lap around the park which usually led to an unnecessary race that had them both collapsing on a patch of grass by the time they were done. On one occasion Sanji had the misfortune of getting pushed in the lake and getting attacked by a duck; a sight which had probably been one of the funniest things Zoro had seen in his life.
The days grew longer as the heat continued to rise, a laziness spreading across the rural community as afternoons were spent lounging in the park or down by the lake. As spring came to an end, the arrival of summer had him once more in his therapists office as the monthly interrogation took place. One of the few dreary days they had had that month as he sat in the luxurious leather chair that was designed to comfort him despite its ability to put him on edge.
“Seems you've had quite the month.” Robin noted sincerely, eyes on Zoro's cast as he sat opposite her in the office as a summer rain pattered on the window outside. While his shoulder had healed spectacularly, his arm was still in need of a few more weeks; a cast change needing to take place soon. “Do you want to tell me about it?”
Zoro was quiet for long moment, though instead of being out of reluctance to speak, it was because he honestly couldn't figure out what to say first. So much had happened in such a short period of time, and for the first time in all of his sessions with his therapist he actually couldn't decided on what to tell her about first. Eventually deciding on the beginning, as the injury was no doubt what interested her the most.
“I got hit by a car.” Zoro finally stated bluntly.
“Sounds traumatic.” Robin noted simply, though not at all surprised. Either the woman had just come to expect that sort of behaviour from him, or she had heard it in passing due to how small the town was and how much people loved to talk. Zoro was sincerely hoping it was the latter.
“It wasn't.”
“Anything happen?” Robin inquired with an air of concern, “Recollections?”
“There was a moment – flashes – but I got it under control.” Zoro explained tersely, remembering the painful memories that had begun to assault him and immediately cast them aside. Not needing them to resurface and bother him now of all times; especially not when the rest of the month had went by without any other incident.
“Considering the situation that is very commendable.” Robin complimented him lightly.
“There were more important things happening.” Zoro argued. As shocking as the situation had been, his concern over the child had managed to ground him enough to keep everything in perspective. It had taken some effort, but his sessions with Robin at least seemed to be paying off in some aspects; one of which was the times they had taken to practice redirecting his memories.
“Anything else?” Robin eventually prodded delicately, “It seems as though you have more you want to say...”
Zoro had to refrain himself from grinning wryly at her; always impressed with how perceptive she was, but had long since learned to not be surprised by it. She was correct, of course, there was still so much more he wanted to tell her about but knowing where to begin felt impossible. A smile finally working its way onto his face for an entirely different reason as he knew the exact catalyst that had started it all.
“Remember the man I mentioned?” Zoro began slowly, awaiting her nod of recognition before continuing, “He was the paramedic on scene.”
“Interesting coincidence.” She noted idly, “Is that important?”
“Well...” Zoro trailed off, feeling thrown by the noticeable underlying tone of her question, but unable to deny how accurate it was. Finally nodding, and admitting to her, “Yes.”
“Why don't you tell me about it?” Robin urged softly, leaving the option out there for Zoro to refuse. However, Zoro didn't feel the need to shut down about this like he usually did, instead he wanted to tell her about everything. About all the mundane, normal interactions he had had that month and the simple – yet amazing – well adjusted people he had come to know.
And so he did.
Zoro began pouring out everything that had happened the past month from the accident, to the evening he spent with Sanji and his co-workers, and every event since. Reminiscing about the weekends that he spent at the alley with them, and the few nights Sanji had had him over to watch a game or two despite Zoro not caring for the sport in the slightest. And how he had come to know each one of them more than he had thought would be possible.
He told her about the excitable man named Luffy that spent almost all of his spare time at one of the downtown boxing gyms. How asking about his moniker lead to a lengthy discussion on pirates and the man's obsession with them; which ended up with Zoro being shown several of Luffy's quite detailed tattoos of various pirate lore. Even admitting to immediately finding himself taking a liking to a particularly vibrant ship tattooed on the boy's shoulder with an impressive lion figurehead.
He mentioned Usopp – the other EMT that had arrived on scene with Sanji – whom hated driving with either Luffy or Franky because they drove at neck braking speeds. And how the man was a whiz at bowling and darts, and when they had been over to watch the game he had painted his entire torso in vibrant colours in support of his team. Then he went on to talk about the man's family and his three sons, happily pointing out the drawing they had added to his decorated cast.
And then there was Chopper, who was the emergency physician that was generally on call whenever the rest had shifts. Zoro had been surprised to find out that the young man was actually a certified doctor, but a short discussion with him made Zoro realize just how intelligent the kid was. It also took no time at all to realize that the boy was worse at taking a compliment than Zoro was.
Then he discussed Franky, who worked for the NHS and was in charge of the maintenance of all of the ambulances at the hospital, as well as being a certified driver so he could go on frequent calls. He talked about how during one of the games Zoro had found out that his family actually owned the main auto shop in town and when he wasn't at work he was usually restoring some old relic at one of the empty bays for his brother. It didn't take long for him to bully Zoro into agreeing to bring his truck by at some point to get looked at.
There was Brook who had been working at the hospital for the past fifty years and had been shuffled through each department over the course of his employment. Just recently he had decided to work as an assistant in E.R. and now spent a large portion of his day helping Chopper and dealing with walk-in patients. It turned out that he was actually the same Mr. Brook that lived a few blocks away that taught violin lessons to a lot of the kids in the area.
And then there was Sanji; the vibrant, cheeky paramedic with a fiery personality and passionate soul. The foul mouth on him overshadowed by the genuine kindness he showed everyone he met, and the way he doted on his friends while complaining loudly to try and conceal how much he actually cared. The man spent all of his spare time cooking for his friends, and fishing out on the lake in the summer.
By the time Zoro had finished talking, Robin was leaning back in her chair comfortably and her clipboard discarded on the table beside herself. Hands clasped loosely in her lap as she simply smiled at him softly. A short silence stretched between them as Zoro was finally at a loss for words, and she broke the silence, “I'm proud of you.”
Zoro just scowled incredulously, raising an eyebrow and scoffing in confusion, “Hm?”
“This was the first time you came in and willingly talked to me for our entire session.” She noted, Zoro's eyes flicking to the clock in minute surprise as he realized that the hour was up. It had been probably the least torturous session with her to date, and it had flown by without him noticing, “I haven't ever seen you open up like this before.”
A response died on his tongue as Zoro simply nodded in embarrassment, always a little annoyed whenever she commended him as it always sounded like she was praising a child.
“You're less withdrawn, there's positivity to your words...” Robin mused, “These people are clearly good for you.”
Zoro managed a shrug, before forcing out, “I was coerced; not my choice.”
Robin just laughed softly at Zoro's petulant words before noting, “I would like to meet and thank this Sanji for being able to put up with you and pushing past your stubborn walls.”
“He's persistent.” Zoro remarked.
“He must be.” Robin countered with a smirk, “Anything else planned this week?”
“Yes.” Zoro responded, almost sounding surprised by his own admission as he was still a little shocked at what he had agreed to, “Actually.”
“Do tell.”
“Well,” Zoro paused shortly, head tilting to the side as he admitted casually, “I'm having everyone over for the game tonight.”
“Really?!” Robin intoned seriously, eyebrows raising in interest as for the first time Zoro could discern actually surprise in her voice.
“Not my choice.” Zoro echoed in explanation. It had originally be Sanji whom had offhandedly bemoaned not having a big enough apartment to really invite over everybody, let alone serve them a proper barbecued meal. Without even really thinking Zoro had offered up his house and his barbecue for the blond's use, and now he was on the rope for at least a dozen people taking over his house that evening.
“You don't sound too put out by it.” Robin commented slyly, glancing down at her watch before politely excusing him, “I suppose you'll need to be heading home then.”
“Yeah.” Zoro nodded, already pushing himself out of the chair and relieved to be leaving without feeling like he was fleeing from her. Heading towards the door as he found his shoulders feeling lighter than they had in weeks, and an odd surge of pride at finally being able to express to somebody how excited he had been over everything that had happened to him recently. Pausing on his way to the door, he looked back down at Robin and admitted a bit shamefully, “I... I haven't really been working on that list.”
“There is no deadline for that, Zoro.” She admonished lightly, “It's just something for you to think about until you find something constructive you want to pursue. For now though it seems you have a much more important things to be concerned with.”
Reaching for the door, Zoro cast another glance back to give a nod of farewell to his therapist, finding Robin still watching him with a sharp gaze as she simpered, “I look forward to our talk next month.”
“Me too.” Zoro murmured as he closed the door politely behind himself, surprised at his own words as for the first time ever he genuinely meant them.
~X~
At almost exactly six in the afternoon, the doorbell rang and had Zoro glancing up from where he had been lounging in the living room. Making his way to the door and not at all surprised to find the blond haired man standing on the other side wearing a neat, pink button up and vest with a large container tucked under his arm.
“Hey Zoro!” Sanji greeted amiably, wavy hair falling into his eyes as kept it down for once. It was probably the most formal he had ever seen the blond; though most times they hung out it was either just after work, or when he was wearing his workout gear for their run.
“Punctual.” Zoro noted.
“Well, if I don't get started on these steaks before Luffy gets here then I'm gonna have to beat him off with a stick to keep him from eating them raw.” Sanji explained with a hint of exasperation in his tone, “The fact that the man hasn't given himself food poisoning shocks me.”
“Who is it, Zoro?” Kalifa simpered as she came around the corner to glance at their guest. Sanji stepping inside and toeing off his shoes while Zoro closed the door behind him, Sanji hardly getting his second shoe off before he was sliding up to Kalifa excitedly.
“This is Sanji.” Zoro introduced with a small wave towards the already swooning man as he made his way over to the two blonds. Placing his hands into his pockets before glancing over and telling Sanji, “Sanji; Kalifa.
“Well I'll be happier than a June bug in July.” Sanji crooned with his rich baritone, offering out his hand towards her with a charmingly lopsided grin, “To get the chance to meet a gorgeous woman such as yourself.”
Zoro's eyes flicked over to his wife wearily, knowing full well that unless she specifically wanted attention she was not so keen when it was unwarranted. However, it seemed she was in a more congenial mood as she reached out and took his hand in a welcomed shake as she requested with a sweet smile, “Please keep the unnecessary flattery to a minimum.”
“Ah, but 'tis not flattery; simply honesty.” Sanji swooned with an over dramatic flourish as he lowered his head. Kalifa retracting her hand swiftly before he had the chance to place a kiss on the back or do anything else that might invade her personal space.
Kalifa turned slowly to eye Zoro up with a humorous glint to her gaze as she murmured, “Where did you find this strange creature?”
“He's the paramedic that was on scene.” Zoro explained calmly as Sanji was once again not at all perturbed by Kalifa's stiffness towards him, and simply straightened as he grinned cheerfully at the both of them. How the blond could get rejected so often by women but remain completely unfazed was a trait that confounded Zoro more and more every day.
“Well then I guess thanks are in order.” Kalifa mused, as she waved them both off, “Let me grab some drinks; you boys go out back and start up the grill.”
They both watched her saunter way, Zoro idly noting the other man watching her retreating figure with a tad too much enthusiasm than was necessary. It wasn't something Zoro was unfamiliar with when it came to his wife, however he hadn't expected the blond to be so blatant about it. Once she was out of ear shot Sanji was turning back to Zoro with raised brows and a jeering grin. “Dude.”
Zoro just watched the other man with a deadpanned expression, hands remained buried deep in his pockets as he grunted in warning, “That's my wife.”
Sanji didn't seem at all threatened by Zoro as he just gushed firmly, “She is so hot.”
“Noted.” Zoro grunted flatly.
“Seriously though,” Sanji pressed, following after Zoro as he turned to make his way through the house and out to the backyard. The barbecue out on the back porch had been set up since they had moved in two years ago and still had yet to be properly used, “How did you land her; it must be a fantastic story.”
“Long story.”
“I have time.”
“You really don't.” Zoro shook his head firmly, not entirely in the mood to relive that part of his life; not to mention the entire explanation of his past career that would have to take place first. Despite how much he had come to know Sanji the past few weeks it was still something that he would prefer to only discuss with his therapist; and even then barely with her.
Pulling back the patio door, he showed Sanji to the grill as the blond seemed to tell that Zoro wanted the subject dropped and instead began cooing over the barbecue. Complaining about how he wasn't allowed one on his apartment balcony and even if he was he wasn't sure he could afford one so expensive. Leaving Sanji to his devices as he began setting everything up, Zoro made his way back inside to find Kalifa in the kitchen just finishing up topping a second glass with a cold beer for Sanji.
“Sure you don't want to stay?” Zoro asked gently, already able to read from her body language that she was remaining polite to Sanji simply as a favour to Zoro. In all honestly Sanji was lucky the woman hadn't put him through the wall for continuing to coo over her after she requested him to stop.
“No.” She mused with a cheery smile, turning and handing the two glasses to Zoro, “I think having some you time with your new friends is important; besides I already have plans.”
“Okay.” Zoro gave in simply, not at all willing to fight her on it as he knew it would be pointless. Hands preoccupied, he leaned down to receive a loving kiss before bidding her farewell and heading back to the backyard. Leaving her to finish getting ready as she would no doubt be gone before anyone else had the chance to arrive.
Handing Sanji his beer, Zoro kept a hold on his own near-beer as it had been a year since he had been sober at the request of his therapist and wife; something that still had him on edge every once in a while. While he still occasionally missed the numbing affects of alcohol, it was crutch he couldn't allow himself to fall back on; no matter how in control of his addiction he had thought he had been.
“Kalifa not staying?” Sanji pried with a hint of dismay.
“She has plans.”
“What a shame.” Sanji sighed with a disappointed shake of his head, setting his beer aside as he turned his attention back to the grill and beginning to lay the steaks out methodically. Doubling back to adjust the spacing as he mused petulantly, “Even when the girls come to hang; our friend group is still such a sausage fest.”
“You scared her.” Zoro muttered scathingly, taking a sip of his drink before adding with a jeer, “Probably why the girls aren't around too often.”
“Oi,” Sanji rounded on Zoro, brandishing the barbecue sauce stained tongs at him with a scowl, “you're just saying that to hurt my feelings.”
“No.” Zoro intoned with a false inflection of surprise, feigning innocence.
“Well, they're coming by tonight.” Sanji countered haughtily, “And you can ask them; I'm a delight.”
“Uhuh.” Zoro grunted, completely unconvinced as the doorbell rang distantly and cut the conversation short. Zoro setting down his near-beer and giving a short nod to excuse himself to go answer it. Still more than a little unnerved at the fact that he had somehow been manipulated into having so many people over at his house at once; not to mention the fact that he wasn't as nearly as bother by it as he should be.
Pulling open the door, he greeted the three people on the other side with a polite nod and a grin. Franky and two women whom he hadn't met yet making their way inside and kicking off their shoes as Zoro closed the door behind them. Rounding on them, he offered to take the case of beer Franky had in his grasp but was quickly cut off.
“It's alright, my man!” Franky boasted loudly, “Just point me in the direction of the fridge and I can deal with it myself.”
Zoro made a gesture towards the kitchen and Franky was quickly sauntering away to make himself at home as Zoro was forced to turn and be left alone with the two strangers. Turning on them as he was very suddenly faced with short, fiery red head whom was watching him sharply, and a much sweeter woman that was already approaching him.
“I don't know if you remember me.” The girl with much kinder features simpered with an embarrassed chuckle, hand coming up to tuck a stray strand of vibrant blue hair behind her ear as she murmured, “But I was the E.R. attendant that helped you when you were brought in.”
“Of course.” Zoro nodded warmly, extending his left hand with gratitude as he vaguely began to recall her name from Sanji's introduction of her. The pain and adrenaline had made some of his memories from that afternoon hazy, but he could remember her quite clearly, “Vivi?'
“Y-yes.” She conceded with a tone of surprise, reaching out with her right before recovering and taking up his left in hers to give a firm shake, “Glad to see you're doing well.”
“I'm sure that thick forehead kept him safe from any brain damage.” The other woman crooned with a scathing bite, watching Zoro playfully as she was clearly daring Zoro to say something.
“Nami!” Vivi scolded in a hushed tone.
“What?” Nami chuckled innocently at Vivi, before looking back up at Zoro with a shrewd glance, “Just saying.”
Zoro wasn't at all sure what to make of the woman's instantly hostile nature, but as he met her shrewd look he could immediately see something playful hiding beneath. Still not entirely sure what her game was, it was clear she was testing him for some unknown reason.
“Bit of a bitch, aren't you?” Zoro commented flatly, keeping his eyes locked on her and playing whatever weird psychological mind games she wanted. A choked noise came somewhere from their left as Zoro refused to break eye contact with the other woman, waiting as she seemed to considering him before eventually breaking.
A smile split her face as she closed her eyes and she let out a genuine guffaw before levelling Zoro with a sharp look, “Alright, I like you; you can stay.”
“It's my house.” Zoro deadpanned.
“Not as long as I'm here.” Nami boasted haughtily, snatching up Vivi's hand and dragging her along as she crowed loudly, “Sanji, baby! Where are you?!”
Zoro just watched her go with an incredulous look on his face as he could hardly believe someone could be so confidently cold hearted, and yet enjoyably likeable at the same time. It was probably only because her attitude reminded him a lot of many of the spunky women he had worked with back in the army. A cocky arrogance to that was a strangely attractive quality, yet infuriating at the same time.
It didn't take long for everyone else to turn up, Luffy arriving with Usopp and Kaya; as their three boys immediately ran out into the back yard to make good use of the tree that certainly never got climbed in. Brook and Chopper coming a short while later, and the both of them stepping out onto the porch just in time to see Usopp waltzing over to his kids waving a dramatic hand as he boasted.
“I'll have you know I won many a tree climbing competition back in my day!” He gloated proudly, “Why, I was known as the World's Best back in my prime!”
A lot of quietly smothered chuckling came from most of the adults as a rather painful snort was heard from over near the barbecue. The kids however bought into the lie easily, and Usopp began pulling himself up into the tree to attempt to get up to where the kids had gotten.
“Boys!” Kaya admonished softly, “Please don't go wrecking Mr. Zoro's nice backyard!”
A chorus of disappointed groans coming from the tree, as well as one that sounded distinctly relieved while Zoro waved her off politely. Talking loud enough for the boys to hear, “It's fine; it needs some use anyway.”
Several cheers of excitement – and one of clear reluctance – were shouted back in response as the boys returned to their attempts at getting as high as possible. Usopp only a couple branches off the ground but from the way his knees were shaking he was already clearly regretting his decision to climb so high.
“You sure?” Kaya insisted in concern, “If you'd seen what they have done to my house you would not be so calm.”
“If they managed to break the tree; then I'll just be impressed.” Zoro assured her.
“Shh.” She hushed playfully, shifting her drink into her other hand to reach out an gently smack his arm, “Do not let them hear you; they'll take it as a challenge.”
Zoro just gave a small chuckle in response.
~X~
It wasn't long until Sanji finished cooking the first round of steaks that were handed out before starting on a smaller batch that was no doubt for Luffy's benefit. Everyone milling about while sipping on their beers as they talked about work and daily events, Zoro caught in the middle of all of it as the initial awkwardness faded and he found himself enjoying it far more than he thought possible.
Everything from the relaxed atmosphere, to the easy way dinner was enjoyed out on the back porch, to the kids screaming excitedly while running around the backyard. All of it was something Zoro had never thought would be something he'd be part of – let alone enjoy – yet here we was. Currently having a conversation with Brook as the man casually told him about some of his new violin students that he had just recently taken on.
Eventually the sun began lowering and everyone crowded into the living room to watched the opening ceremony of the game, and for the first time Zoro was grateful for the ridiculous size of the house. With only two people living in it, most of the rooms had always felt too large and ridiculous for how often they were left unused, but now it seemed rather useful. However, despite the seating options, Luffy still found himself enjoying a spot on the floor.
Zoro remained seated in his chair watching as the first period began while Chopper leaned over him and gently poked and prodded along his arm while Zoro was just required to answer a few yes or no questions every few seconds. At first it had been strange having the near stranger all over him, but the past few weeks had made him realize that the young man just simply couldn't turn his work brain off.
“When are you scheduled to get your cast changed?” Chopper prodded seriously, finally satisfied with Zoro's shoulder even though he had been the doctor that had inspected it the week before when Zoro had went in for x-rays. The crack to his humerus was almost completely healed at this point, and the fracture to his forearm was coming along perfectly.
“Next week.”
“Okay, good.” Chopper nodded with a relieved smile, pulling himself away enough to take a seat on the couch as he continued to lean in towards Zoro, “Make sure to hold onto the old one though!”
“Sure?” Zoro inquired with a skeptical brow, glancing down at the collage of signatures and drawings that had faded over the last few weeks. A lot of the ink just dark smudges, though the 's' of Sanji's name still had a boldness to it, “It's starting to smell.”
“It's good luck!” Chopper chirped happily.
“Aren't you a doctor?” Zoro asked carefully. “Are you supposed to believe in luck?”
“Irrelevant.” Chopper waved a hand exaggeratedly in front of himself and raised his nose haughtily, “Saving your cast is a good omen; every good doctor knows this.”
Zoro just chuckled fondly at the young man before conceding, “Alright, I'll keep it.”
Chopper grinned ecstatically before finally turning back to the game, neither team having scored yet, but apparently they were collectively cheering for the one's in blue. Zoro tracking the ball lazily as it was kicked around on screen, still a little perplexed at why this was so exciting, but trying his best to enjoy it.
“Zoro~” Luffy singsonged from his seat on the floor, “Is Sanji done yet?”
Zoro wondered at what point he had been put in charge of cook watch, but he assumed since it was his house it was now partially his responsibility. It also seemed likely that Sanji might have imposed a 'No Bothering Sanji While He's Cooking' rule on the hungry menace. Pushing himself up from his chair with a grunt, he muttered, “I'll go check.”
Leaving the rabble to continue watching the game and chatting loudly, he made his way out towards the backyard where everything was already infinitely quieter. Zoro stepped outside, finding the blond leaning against the deck railing several feet away from where the barbecue was smoking pleasantly. A smell of rich meat cooking underneath as Sanji puffed on a cigarette patiently waiting for the food to cook to his specifications.
“Game's started.” Zoro explained tersely.
Sanji shrugged, pulling the cigarette way from his lips and resting his hand on his thigh as he responded with smoke swirling off his breath, “It's okay; nothing interesting happens in the first quarter anyway.”
“Luffy's hungry.” Zoro added.
“What's new?” Sanji scoffed through a chuckle, shaking his head fondly to belie his harsh words as his gaze grew soft at the mere thought of the ridiculous man. Taking another puff before drawing himself from his musings to glance over at Zoro, flicking his hair out of his sharp eyes as he noted, “Not much of a soccer fan, are you?”
“It's interesting.” Zoro allowed simply, not really having much time to enjoy or partake in sports since he had back in high school, and even then it had been rare. There had been far more fascinating things that had consumed him from a much younger age; things that now were hard to enjoy lest he cause a relapse.
“Bullshit.” Sanji laughed loudly, a large billow of smoke gushing from his mouth as he stated quite frankly, “I can see you falling asleep every game you've watched.”
Zoro didn't reply; he couldn't. Nothing he could say would properly justify why he found most thing so mundane in the wake of what he used to endure. Though it seemed almost unnecessary to try and excuse himself around the blond since it had become apparently obvious that the man at least had an inkling of what Zoro had been through. How could he not?
After seeing the wounds that decorated his whole body in the ambulance ride Sanji no doubt had put the pieces together that Zoro was ex-military. Which was almost a relief since he didn't have to try and explain himself to the other man. However, that still didn't stop the blond from being curious despite his best efforts to appear aloof.
“Man...” Sanji reminisced softly, allowing the subject to be dropped as he usually did, “Really jealous of how nice it is having a backyard.”
“Then get one.”
“Pft.” Sanji scoffed sardonically, “Like I could afford it; not all of us can have a job that pays so well.”
Sanji never prodded, however he had a habit of leaving very open ended statements hanging in the air in case Zoro ever felt the need to respond. It was a little cheeky on the blond's part, but Zoro had just come to find it endearing in a very immature way. Obviously with his injuries, there was no way Sanji wasn't curious, and Zoro had to appreciate how much effort Sanji put in to not outright prying into his past.
“CIA.”
“Hm?” Sanji glanced over in shock, cigarette hanging loosely between his lips as his wide eyes turned on Zoro as he still clearly wasn't sure what he had just heard Zoro say. Body tensing and turning ever-so-slightly in Zoro's direction as the blond's curiosity was obviously horribly peaked.
Sighing heavily, Zoro pushed himself up off the railing but kept his hands gripping it tensely as he was already wondering what had come over him to admit something that private to him. Trying to shake his annoyance as he grumbled once more, “I was CIA.”
“Huh.” Sanji hummed deep in his throat, enigmatic eyes watching Zoro intently before finally turning away to stare off distantly. Hand raising to take another long drag, before releasing it and then just continuing to lean on the railing beside Zoro quietly. Thoughts clearly racing, but his demeanour calm and no sign of any more inquiries wanting to be made; it ticked Zoro off.
“That's it?” Zoro asked somewhat indignantly, keeping his gaze pinned on Sanji as the man turned his head to watch Zoro just as calmly as he had before. If not a little surprised at Zoro's sudden outburst as his eyebrows raised slightly at Zoro's behaviour.
After careful consideration, Sanji finally spoke, “If I did ask you anything; what would you tell me?”
“It's classified.”
A wry grin split Sanji's face, “Exactly.”
Pushing himself off the railing, he ground out the butt of his smoke on the bottom of his shoe before pocketing it and making his way over to the grill. Opening the lid as a wave of delicious smoke came wafting up to billow around the blond, before he set to work inspecting each of the steaks. Beginning to flip a few of them as Zoro made his way over to watch, a tinge of annoyance beginning to set in.
“If you didn't want to know,” Zoro began stubbornly, “Why'd you keep bringing it up?”
Sanji shrugged, turning over one of the steaks before glancing shrewdly at Zoro with a smirk, “You seem like the type that needs to talk, but doesn't like being asked.”
Zoro was nearly indignant with how confidently the blond assumed he knew him, but was even more annoyed by the fact that the blond was absolutely right. He stood so long standing and fuming with self directed confusion that Sanji had already finished the plating the steaks.
“Here.” Sanji ordered, pulling Zoro from his musings as he offered Zoro the large dish stacked high with several steaks. Sanji already shooing him towards the patio door before Zoro even had chance to respond to Sanji's earlier accusations, “Make sure to hold your hand flat when you feed the Luffy or he'll likely bite your fingers off.”
~X~
The game had ended with raucous cheers, toasted drinks, and excited screaming from some of the more invested fans as they narrowly won. Second half a bit more exciting as the score had been tied, however Zoro admittedly had drifted off for a few minutes early on before Sanji had very subtly woken him up by shoving an unlit cigarette up his nose. Crumpled remains of it were now in the trash after Zoro had managed to return the favour by cramming it in the blond's ear.
Everyone began heading out – Kaya rushing the boys out first as it had gotten well past their bedtime – most people giving each other a short farewell and discussing their next shifts. Zoro standing by the door as he bid Brook goodbye as the elderly gentleman began walking off down the block towards his own house. Barely getting the door closed before he was accosted by a far more amiable redhead – after having a few beers – as she gave him a cheeky pat on the shoulder, “You're a good guy; I like you.”
“You seem alright.” Zoro commented back, his deadpanned expression seeming to only delight her more as she cackled happily. Slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him down so he was more on her level, not nearly as much alcohol on her breath as he had suspected and he began to wonder how much of this behaviour was an act.
“How do you feel about stock investments?” She inquired quite seriously.
“Aaalrighty.” Vivi chirped hurriedly, scooping the other woman away from Zoro and physically pushing her towards the door. Her attempt at a reprimanding tone failing as she whispered into the other woman's ear, “Time for you to leave.”
“Aw, c'mon Vivi.” Nami pouted, allowing the other girl to guide her out the door as she cast smirk back at Zoro. The predatory look on her gorgeous features sending a chill down his spine, “He seems like a wise investor.”
“Ignore her.” Vivi pleaded with a sincere smile over her shoulder, a timid wave followed as she managed, “It was wonderful to see you again, Mr. Roronoa. I look forward to next time.”
“Same.” Zoro nodded congenially, waving them out the door before turning around and immediately being face with a chipper Chopper whom insisted on a hug goodbye. By the time he had gotten the rest of the visitors out the door, he was feeling particularly exhausted, but not at all stressed over their extended company.
Gathering up the last of the dishes from the living room, he made his way into the kitchen where Sanji already had the sink full of hot, soapy water and was in the midst of washing up. Sleeves roll up past his elbows to expose his hairy forearms, and his hair tied above his head in messy bun as he worked to scrub a particularly large amount of barbecue sauce from a plate.
“You don't have to do that...” Zoro urged as he made his way over to the counter, beginning to set down the last of the dishes on the counter.
“I insist.” Sanji argued stubbornly, snatching a plate right out of Zoro's hands before turning back to the sink to begin washing it as well. Despite the fact the Zoro very obviously had a dishwasher, he instantly knew that there would be no arguing with the blond on this and resigned himself to the man's help.
Snatching up a dish clothe, he stepped around the stubborn blond and began snagging dishes from the rack to begin drying them. Sanji noticeably a little surprised at first, but refraining from saying anything as they continued to work in silence until the sink was empty and a large pile of dry dishes sat off to the side waiting to be put away. Sanji just finishing off drying his hands as he asked politely, “Where's the bathroom?”
“Upstairs.” Zoro replied absently, vaguely waving his hand in the direction of the stairs while beginning to stack several plates to be put away in the cupboard, “Third – no... second door on your right.”
“Do you not know your own house?” Sanji snorted snidely, already heading for the stairs but not before raising an incredulous brow in Zoro's direction.
A wave of heated embarrassment washed over Zoro's face as his shoulders tensed incredibly, pausing with a glass in hand and he rounded on the blond with a snarl, “No!”
“Sure~” Sanji cajoled playfully, making his way up the stairs as he crooned, “Little directionless vegetable.”
“I'll show you a directionless vegetable, you dumb curly frickin'...” Zoro grumbled angrily before he trailed off, having absolutely no idea where he was planning on heading with that insult. Turning back to the dry dishes, he continued to put them away as he was relieved that Sanji had been out of ear shot and had not heard him. Setting the last of the cups on the shelf before trudging over to one of the chairs and falling into it; the day finally taking its toll on him.
Out of habit he found himself tracking the other man's movements upstairs, and it wasn't long before he heard the bathroom door opening once more. However, the footsteps seemed to falter, and when no sound of him descending the stairs could be heard Zoro found himself glancing over in interest. Slowly pushing himself to his feet and making his way over to the staircase, not wanting the blond to think him paranoid but also curious as to why the man wouldn't come down stairs.
Reaching the top floor, he passed by the bathroom – whose door stood open – as he neared his office space where Sanji was easily spotted standing in the doorway. Looking around at all the bottled ships with a mesmerized expression on his face, clearly so absorbed that he didn't even hear Zoro approaching.
“Hey.” Zoro muttered, making himself known.
“OH! Hey!” Sanji said through a startled jump, Zoro enjoying the guilty way Sanji began fumbling over his words as his hands began waving erratically in front of himself. Smirk reaching his lips as he genuinely got to see the blond out of his element for the first time, “Sorry, I didn't mean... I was just walking by and the door was open.”
“It's fine.” Zoro finally grunted, releasing Sanji from his tortured embarrassment despite the fact that he would have enjoyed watching the blond grasp around like that all day. Relief lighting up the blond's face as he once more turned back to looking around the small workshop and all the finished ships lining the walls.
“You collect?” Sanji asked absently, nearing one of the larger one's as he raised onto his toes to peer down onto the deck to get a better look.
“Make them.” Zoro shrugged modestly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he continued to watch the way Sanji excitedly inspected each ship. No one had ever really seen them before – aside from his wife – and he had always just assumed that most people would find them as dull as she did; it certainly wasn't an exciting hobby.
“You...” Sanji started numbly, eyes still dancing across the room in awe before finally levelling on Zoro, “You made all these?”
Zoro just offered a shy nod.
“These are incredible!” Sanji grinned broadly, a sincerity to his words that seemed far too excited and genuine for something so mundane. Turning back to the one he had been eyeing earlier and reaching out a hand, he cast a glance back at Zoro, “May I?”
Zoro shrugged with an encouraging smile.
The ships, accessories, and everything else was all properly glued down, unless Sanji decided to give it a good shake then it wasn't likely that anything would fall apart. Zoro watched as Sanji carefully picked up the bottle and began turning it over in his dexterous hands, long fingers shifting the container around as he continued to inspect the ship from all angles. A familiar warmth had once more sparked in Zoro's chest as he couldn't help the surge of happiness at how genuinely interested the other man was in what he had made.
“This is indescribable.” Sanji murmured as he carefully turned the bottle over in his hands to inspect the underside of the ship as well, “It's gorgeous.
“You can have it.” The words had left Zoro's mouth before he had even known he had uttered them, eyes widening nearly as much as Sanji's did as when finally realizing what he had said. That warm sensation taking hold as he didn't want to loose that feeling, desperate to say anything that might keep it alive.
“Oh, no.” Sanji immediately shook his head and made to place it back on the shelf, “I couldn't.”
“Seriously,” Zoro intoned as he gently reached out to place a hand on the bottle to keep Sanji from placing it on the shelf, shoving it back towards the man. Attempting an aloof nature to hopefully mask the odd happiness that was threatening to make him smile like an idiot, “I have too many anyway; need shelf space.”
“Well...” Sanji floundered for a moment – still holding the bottle – before finally seeming to sense that there was no use arguing over it as he conceded, “I don't know what to say...”
“A thank you is usually customary.”
“Was that a joke?” Sanji snorted, raising an eyebrow, “You making jokes now?”
Smirking wryly, Zoro gave a noncommittal shrug.
“You know...” Sanji mused, following Zoro out of the room as he continued to cradle the bottle in his arms as delicately as possible, “I don't know why you don't have more friends; your dry wit is quite attractive.”
Zoro couldn't quite place why he felt a tiny rush at the odd compliment, but he accepted it graciously by keeping his back to the man as they descended the stairs. Offering just a quirk of his head in response as he honestly didn't have an answer to the blond's question; not many people seemed to understand that a lot of his flat statements were actually just facetious comments.
“Maybe you got lost and couldn't find them?” Sanji mused seriously from behind him.
Zoro reached the bottom of the stairs, turned, and looked back up at the blond flatly, “Get out of my house.”
“That's it, isn't it?!” Sanji exclaimed with a gasp of mocking realization.
Both of them making their way to the front door as Sanji just continued to laugh harder at his own running joke and Zoro couldn't do more than roll his eyes at the behaviour. Fighting back a smile and losing as he just opted for opening the door and jerking his head out of the portal, “Go home.”
“Okay! Okay...” Sanji conceded, finally seeming to calm down as he finished pulling on his shoes and stepping outside, before turning back to Zoro and reaching out a concerned hand. Face turning rigid as he murmured seriously, “Don't go anywhere while I'm gone; we can't have you getting lost.”
Zoro just responded by flicking the door closed in the still cackling blond's face, listening as the laughter followed him well down the driveway until he finally got into his car. Even after the car pulled out and Zoro had spent the next hour cleaning up the final evidence of all the people that had just been in his house he could still hear Sanji's cheerful laughter.
TBC...
|
Cold. Ice cold. The walls around her glowed a faint blue as the light reflected off the frozen surfaces. Guards both Fire Nation and Southern Water Tribe watched over her, taking it in turns while analysing her every move, barely giving her room to breathe. Shivering from the cold, Azula watched the fire from a torch flicker in the distance giving her hope that one day she would be free to go live on her own in the solitude she wished she had. On any given day Azula wished that she was anywhere but where she was. She hated it and hated what was being done to her while serving her time in captivity. The small flame reminded her of what she had lost, what could have been, and what was.
Azula hissed slightly as pain shot through her right wrist, she tried to move to ease the throbbing but the shackles that were holding her were specially made to stop her fire bending and to keep her contained, allowing little to no movement. Every time she moved she felt them tighten or pinch, they too, like her prison, were ice cold against her bare skin. Individual shackles held each ankle and wrist tightly, a different chain anchoring each one to the outside of her cell walls. The cell itself, she could tell, was made of solid ice with a metal or similar frame to make sure she didn’t escape. Her walls were pure ice but the front of her cell was made from thick metal bars that some of the soldiers liked to shine while watching her. Sometimes during the day, if the guards were feeling nice enough, they would lengthen the chains holding her so she was able to stretch a little, and pace back and forth. Some other times the guards would tighten the chains as tight as they would allow which would leave the former princess screaming in pain on the inside as her body felt like it was going to be torn apart limb by limb.
It had been two and a half years since she snapped under the pressure her father had placed on her shoulders. Two and a half years since she had had her psychotic break. Two and a half years since her own brother locked her away and defeated her at an Agni Kai, taking away what little honour she felt she had left. Two and a half years since Sozin’s Comet sore through the sky and the Fire Nation was defeated by the Avatar.
It had only been a year and a half since she was imprisoned in ice and it was through no fault but her own. Each day drew on and on and at times she wished she was locked back up in the Fire Nation where it was warm. Azula knew that in only a few short hours the guards would change over and her living nightmare would begin once more.
Being able to do nothing other than wait, Azula tried to remain calm and practiced the meditations she was taught but she could feel her anxiety rise as every minute ticked by. Azula didn’t know how long she had been standing in the middle of her cell with her eyes closed; all she knew was that she was as prepared as she could be for whatever awaited her. Her gold eyes snapped open when she heard the faint sound of the metal door opening, the door that lead to the outside world and out of her prison.
Taking a deep breath in, Azula shuddered when she heard the laugh of the two Fire Nation soldiers that she had come to truly despise. She knew it would only be a matter of seconds before they came to her, a matter of seconds before she wouldn’t be able to move properly and feel her body being torn apart.
Hearing the footsteps coming closer to her, Azula felt herself start to panic, something she never used to do. Trying her best to keep her composure, she stood still and put on her best bored face.
“Well, look Jing, the disgraced little princess is still here,” a rather nasty, plump, looking man snickered, his long, greasy, black hair up in the standard Fire Nation style bun.
“That she is, Peng, that she is. Do you think it’s time we teach her a new lesson?” Jing asked, smirking as his brown eyes lit up as he looked around to make sure no other guards were present.
“Definitely time, we haven’t seen her in over a week, for all we know she has gotten her superiority complex back,” Peng said as he moved over to the crank to tighten the chains.
“I have no superiority complex at all. I just know that even locked away I still have more honour than the both of you combined,” Azula calmly replied, her voice raspy from not being used in quite a while.
“Shut your mouth you stupid child,” Jing responded harshly, his spit barely missing Azula’s face.
Trying her best to remain as calm as she could, Azula put on a neutral expression and waited, she knew she had yet again back chatted to the soldiers but she didn’t care. It didn’t take long before she felt the shackles tighten around her extremities, sending shooting pain through her body as the small, blunt protrusions pressed deep into her chi points, cutting off any form of self defence she had. The chains began to pull tighter and tighter, Azula could feel her muscles screaming in protest. She bit her bottom lip, trying her best not to give them the pleasure of hearing or seeing her in pain. Watching as they entered her cell, Azula did her best to prepare herself for what she knew was about to happen.
“This is for having us sent to this place after your father murdered our brothers and fathers,” Peng angrily said as he landed a swift blow to Azula’s stomach, adding in a few extra punches as he took his anger out on the teenager.
“She’s not making a sound, hit her harder,” Jing suggested as he stood behind Azula and gripped her hair, keeping her head as still as he could.
Landing blow after blow to Azula’s stomach area, Peng began to kick her shins and thighs as Jing started to punch her in the back. They were angrily telling her about the pain her family caused theirs and how they blamed her for the deaths that happened during the hundred year war. Azula could do nothing, she could barely breathe let alone speak but she kept every sound she could to herself, only a few escaping her lips. She felt numb, like this was something that she deserved, she knew it was payback for all of the people she and her family had hurt. Jing and Peng liked to remind her of everything they had to give up to come guard her and that her being alive was ruining their lives. They took their anger and frustrations out on her, belittled her, and beat her to a pulp at every chance they could get, thinking it was fair punishment.
Azula felt the pain tear through her body, everything ached, and every muscle felt as if it was on fire. It reminded her of the very first time lightning went through her body and almost killed her. She tried her best to ignore what they were saying but some things they were saying she knew were true. She was a monster and she was responsible for a lot of deaths, this she couldn’t take back even if she wanted to but she didn’t as what was done was done. Instead Azula wondered why her brother choose these specific people to come and watch her, did he send them because he also believed she needed to be punished? Azula started to wonder if anyone ever really cared for her or wanted what was best for her, she felt alone and isolated and when she thought back to anyone who she thought even remotely cared about, all she could think about was Ty Lee. Ty Lee who was the closest person she had ever had to a friend.
“The doors are opening, let’s get out of here,” Peng quietly said to Jing, as they hurried out of the cell, hearing the metal entrance door slam shut.
Hearing her cell door creak, Azula risked taking a quick glance and saw that both Peng and Jing were leaving rather quickly. They slammed her bars shut and locked them securely, activating the release in pressure on the chains and shackles. Azula waited until the two men had left before she sat on the floor with her back pressed up against the ice cold wall. Hearing them talk to two other guards, she knew she wouldn’t be harassed until at least tomorrow. Letting out a shaky breath Azula felt warm tears run down her cheeks as she shivered from the cold as it seeped into her body once more.
Azula wasn’t one to cry but everyone had a breaking point and after being beaten up and told how useless you are over and over again, she started to believe what they were saying about her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a deep breath in and tried to control her emotions. You’re nothing but a murderer! You’re are not worthy of the air you breathe! You’re a monster just like your father! Dishonoured and unwanted by everyone! You only deserve what we dish out to you! You murdered our families and now you will pay for your actions!
Pushing her thoughts aside after a few moments, Azula tried to regain some of her composure. Wiping the tears from her face she straightened herself up and pressed her back harder into the ice cold wall trying to relieve some of the pain that was throbbing throughout her body. One of the only benefits she found from being locked away in an ice prison was that the cold helped to soothe her aches and pains and at this point she would take whatever would help her.
‘I really wish I had someone, anyone, to talk to,’ Azula thought to herself, thinking back to when she was younger and only had enough friends to count on one hand. Being the former princess to the Fire Nation, Azula used to pride herself on being able to get anyone to do what she wanted, when she wanted. She was able to speak and the entire room would fall silent and listen to every word she had to say. Now, Azula didn’t even know if she could say more than a sentence at a time, it had been a while since anyone asked her anything. Most days she usually didn’t speak back at the guards but she had some exceptions, especially when it came to the two men she despised so much.
Azula knew that her mental health was deteriorating, she could feel herself slipping more and more by the day but she knew it wasn’t the same as what happened the first time she fell apart. This time it felt more like her entire body was numb, her mind was numb, and no matter what was done to her, she felt like it was her own fault. This time there were no hallucinations and no voice in her head telling her to set everything on fire. She had two people more than willing to tell her about how disgraceful and unwanted she was, she didn’t need the added extra baggage of her own brain telling her it was all true but here she was, her brain believing everything that was said to her, her walls torn down.
Hearing the metal doors open yet again, Azula quickly wiped at her face and got up off the floor. She could feel her entire body protest but she pushed through the pain and stood up. Azula carefully listened to the sound of the footsteps and raised an eyebrow as they sounded too light to be that of any boots that the guards wore. Waiting until the sounds got closer, Azula took a step back so she was out of reach of any attacks the guards may try with their bats. She had a feeling it may be a sneak attack and she waited until the person was in front of her cell.
Seeing a figure dressed in pink stop in front of her prison cell, Azula focused on the person and she could barely keep the look of shock off her face as Ty Lee stood in front of her. The last time she had seen Ty Lee was when she was fourteen years old and having her first psychotic episode. She wondered for a brief second if she was seeing things.
Azula’s gold eyes met Ty Lee’s grey and they held each other’s gaze for what felt like an eternity. Ty Lee’s expression was neutral; she looked neither happy nor sad. Azula could tell she didn’t look the best. She was favouring her left side over her right, her hair hadn’t been brushed in months, and she hadn’t been allowed to shower or bathe in what felt like forever. Her clothing was tattered and torn; it was just thick enough to help protect her from getting frostbite. She barely got any sleep these days, fearing that someone was going to come and murder her in her sleep like the guards threatened, even with her brother’s order to keep her alive.
Ty Lee on the other hand, was dressed in a long, thick pink coat. She had on black pants and black shoes to match. Ty Lee looked healthy, she looked good. Azula wondered what was going through the other girl’s head as she stood in front of her not saying a word.
Watching every movement Azula made, Ty Lee could straight away tell that something was very wrong. The Azula she knew was gone and was replaced with what seemed like a shell of her old self. Ty Lee took a mental note that Azula looked like she hadn’t eaten or been taken care of in what looked like a very long time. She stood in front of her wearing a torn grey jumper and matching long grey pants with thick soled shoes of which looked like they were held together with string. Ty Lee studied Azula’s face, the former princess looked very pale, she looked like she had lost a bit of weight, and overall she looked unwell, sick almost. The cold wasn’t helping Azula either, Ty Lee watched as the girl in front of her shivered from it penetrating her body. She knew why it was an ice cell but she still felt bad that her childhood best friend was freezing.
Ty Lee wondered what was going through Azula’s head. Was she happy to see her or did she want to kill her where she stood. Azula’s face gave nothing away but Ty Lee knew Azula and she could tell that the former princess had been crying, her eyes were still a little red. For the entire time that Ty Lee knew Azula, Ty Lee could only recall five times she had seen tears freely run down Azula’s face and three of the times was when her father tried to teach her how to deal with torture by torturing the young girl himself. Each time Azula ended up spending the night at Ty Lee’s and crying in her arms about how much it hurt and about how much pressure her father was putting on her and how she had to be the perfect daughter and fire bender. The other two times were right after Azula’s mother had left and Azula blamed herself for it as she overheard her mother calling her a monster.
To Ty Lee it looked as if someone had intentionally tried to break the former princess and had mostly succeeded. By now Ty Lee had expected Azula to say something, anything, and the fact that she hadn’t Ty Lee knew that whatever was happening to Azula was greatly affecting her to the point her spirit was broken. Running her eyes over Azula, Ty Lee knew that she would be coming back, she still deeply cared about the girl in front of her and that had never changed over the years. Azula was her first friend, and Ty Lee hoped that one day they could be friends once more.
|
Sakura wakes up to Shisui shaking her.
"Hey there petal, rise and shine! You've got a big exam today, and if you don't get up you're going to miss breakfast!"
Sakura startles, rolling out of bed and blinking the sleep from her eyes. Was it really already time for her to go to the Academy for the first part of the Chunin exams? She hadn't even gotten the chance to talk to Sasuke yet, she hadn't even packed for the Forest of Death! Panicking, Sakura goes to grab her pack, but stumbles sideways, sleep still pulling at the edges of her awareness and making her slow. She can hear Shisui laughing at her from behind.
"Man, Kakashi said you tired yourself out, but I didn't know he meant you were 'sleep through dinner, the night and still be tired the next morning' levels of tired."
Groaning, Sakura throws a shoe at Shisui, missing widely, while she staggers around packing.
"Very funny, I'm awake now."
Whatever effect the statement could have made is ruined by Sakura breaking into a yawn in the middle of it.
Shisui's laughter only increases, and he hands Sakura her shoe back, ruffling her hair,
"Sure, Sakura, I believe you. Come down for breakfast before you go, okay? No exams on an empty stomach!"
Sakura throws her storage scrolls into her pack, and turns to stick her tongue out at Shisui.
"Yes, mom."
She finishes packing quickly, double checking her inventory, and then she looks at the clock.
Crap!
Little more than an hour before she needs to be at the Academy. Sakura finds herself more than a little shocked that she managed to sleep for so long. Proof that she's getting soft, she'll have to train that back out of herself eventually. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Sakura descends the stairs to find that Shiui has made an enormous amount of breakfast.
He really is such a mom, I bet he does this to Itachi too.
She thanks Shisui vigorously, and eats as much food as she can stomach, knowing she needs whatever calories she can store for later. Dieting is definitely a thing of Sakura's past, this time around, she just works to build muscle instead of counting every calorie. Sakura finishes breakfast in a record time, and rises, ready to run to the Academy so that she won't be late. Making her way to the other side of the table where Shisui is sharpening a kunai, she hugs him tightly.
"Thanks again for breakfast. You're the best! I'll see you in a couple of days. Wish me luck."
He hugs her back, messing with her hair in the process. When they let go, Shisui winks at her.
"Luck? Since when have you ever needed luck? Have fun, though!"
Smiling, Sakura heads for the door, still feeling a little behind, but much more settled. She leaps to the roofs and starts making her way rapidly towards the Academy. It would have been nice to be able to talk to Sasuke and level with him, but the sleep has done her a lot of good, she knows. Maybe she can catch Sasuke alone while they're on watch in the Forest or something. If they talk in semi-code no one should be able to understand them. Her spirits lift even higher when she remembers that the other Rookies of the Leaf will be there, and today she'll get to meet Rock Lee, Neji, and Tenten.
Dropping from the roofs just in front of the Academy, Sakura makes her way in to find that Naruto and Sasuke are already there. Sasuke is leaning impatiently against a wall, and Naruto is bounding all over the place, full to bursting with energy.
"Sorry I'm late, guys. I forgot to set an alarm."
Sasuke hns at her and Naruto starts talking immediately about what the exams might be like and how he's definitely going to win them. They make their way past the fake floor with no problems, entering the correct room on the 3rd floor and signing in. Upon entering the waiting room, which seems even more full of ninja than the Chunin exams of her past life, Sakura catches sight of Shikamaru, and waves. She's about to make her way over when a blur of green enters her field of vision.
Rock Lee stands before her, jaw dropped open, and adoration in his eyes.
"You, are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen! I swear on my life I will protect you! I am Rock Lee! Please, do me the honor of going on a date with me!"
Sakura had almost forgotten Lee had asked her out literally the first time they'd ever met. She'll have to let him down more gently this time. She's not the girl so obsessed with Sasuke she can't see other people's feelings. Not anymore. She smiles carefully at Lee,
"Hi Lee, I'm Sakura. I, er... I'm not really interested in the date thing, but we can be friends, right?"
Lee looks crestfallen at first, then Tenten appears at his side and jabs an elbow into his ribs. He straightens back up, and his eyes sparkle with determination.
"YOSH! We will become friends, and then one day, when I have proven myself to you, you may find me worthy of a date! Until then, I will continue to guard you with my LIFE!"
Sakura knows he really would protect her with his life, and she doesn't particularly want him to, so she chuckles nervously, putting a hand behind her head.
Luckily for her, Tenten intervenes, punching Lee upside the head.
"Knock it off, Lee!"
Turning to Sakura, Tenten smiles, and Sakura returns it. She always liked the older girl, and admired her for her powerful weapon skills.
"Hi Sakura, I'm Tenten. As you know, this here is Lee. Over here-"
She yanks an arm and suddenly Neji Hyuuga stands in front of them, looking bored and slightly perturbed that Tenten has grabbed him.
"-is Neji! This is our first time taking the exams, what about you?"
Sakura turns to introduce her teammates to Team Guy, but Naruto is already halfway across the room, with Kiba, hands flying animatedly as he tells Kiba something. She spies Ino hanging off of
Sasuke's arm nearby, and shakes her head slightly. Turning back to Team Guy, she nods with what she hopes is enthusiasm.
"Yup! It's our first time taking the exam too. I'm on a team with Naruto, who's over there"
Sakura points him out,
"And Sasuke, who is being used as a jungle gym over there."
Sasuke, hearing his name, gives a grunt in Sakura's direction that either is acknowledgement of her saying his name, or a cry for help to get away from Ino. Sakura decides to leave him where he is.
"It's so great to meet you guys! I hope we all do well in this exam, and then maybe we'll get to see each other on missions sometimes!"
Tenten opens her mouth to respond, but before she can, Sakura hears a commotion on the other side of the room, and whips her head around to see Kabuto clutching his ears, his glasses broken on the floor. In front of him is a Sound Village ninja, and helping Kabuto up is Sakura's own teammate, Naruto. Sakura hates the fact the Sound ninja are back. She had kind of hoped that since Jiraiya knew most of what would go down in these exams that the Sound village would be excluded. Sakura assumes it's some sort of political thing. Worse than that though, is that Naruto has already met Kabuto. It'll be incredibly hard to keep him away, since Naruto is unlikely to believe that Kabuto is a bad person, and Sakura can't exactly break the news of her time travelling to her loud mouthed teammate.
She is saved from her indecision by Ibiki calling for silence, and the beginning of the written portion of the Chunin exams.
The exam goes much how Sakura remembers, and this time she doesn't waste time worrying if Naruto will get any of the answers right, because she completely believes that her teammate will pull through in the final question where it counts. Instead, Sakura takes the time to do reconnaissance of the foreign ninja participating in the exam.
Glancing covertly around the room, Sakura sees the expected teams from Konoha, including her own, team Asuma, team Kurenai, team Guy, and whatever team Kabuto has put together of Leaf Genin who have taken the exam before and failed, which Sakura is interested to see has a Uchiha on it. She doesn't remember the Uchiha having a lot of active ninja, and she spares a thought wondering if Orochimaru would go after this unknown Uchiha. Should she and Sasuke and Naruto stick near to him, to protect him, or should they leave him to his fate? Would it even be his fate? Sakura considers it, and considers Kabuto. It would put her team in too much danger to be around Kabuto any more than necessary, so she probably needs to leave the other Uchiha alone. She feels a sting at what her last life's Naruto would have said about her abandoning a comrade, but Sakura doesn't even know for sure if Orochimaru will go after this Uchiha, or hers. She assumes Orochimaru still wants a Sharingan, and revenge on Sarutobi, so he's likely going to be part of the exams, but Sakura can't protect everyone. So she chooses to save her own team, and stubbornly pushes down any guilt she feels. She can't afford to be weak.
The Sand siblings are present, as expected, and it's hard not to shudder at the sheer amount of bloodlust rolling off of Gaara in waves. Naruto's speech and fight with him can't come soon enough, in Sakura's opinion. There are the assorted teams from the other main ninja lands, but Sakura doesn't recognize any by sight, so she feels free to overlook them for now. The amount of Sound ninja is suprising to Sakura, but there might have been this many last time, she doesn't remember. Maybe some of them die in the forest? Or perhaps Orochimaru has a greater amount of Sound ninja in his village than he did before. Either way, it's worth keeping an eye on.
Before she can commit all of their faces to memory, Ibiki announces the final exam question. As before, several teams leave and give up, and Naruto gives a short speech about never giving up. Then just like that, they've passed, Anko arrives and gives some dramatic speech that Sakura is convinced she came up with on the spot. It is probably meant to scare them, but Sakura finds it more amusing than anything else. She gets to know Anko a tad better in the future, and seeing her now, Sakura is fairly certain the entire speech is to cover up the fact she may have forgotten where the exam was, and is actually nervous and trying to make a good impression. Leave it to Anko to try and make a good impression with death threats. Soon, too soon, it's on to the Forest of Death.
This is the part that Sakura has feared. If Orochimaru comes after them again, and Sakura feels relatively certain that he will, will Team 7 be able to hold him off? Sakura and Sasuke are at a Jounin level mentally, but physically neither one of them could be considered more than a high leveled Chunin at best, and Orochimaru is a Sannin. As Sakura makes her way towards the forest, she finds herself walking alongside Shikamaru, and she can't help the relief she feels just being next to the Nara again. Bumping into his shoulder gently, she greets her friend.
"How's training been going?"
Shikamaru knocks her shoulder back,
"Troublesome. My dad figured out I was actually putting in some effort training, so he's slave driving me. At least Asuma lets me play Shogi once in a while. You?"
Sakura hums thoughtfully,
"Well, our first C-rank was a disaster, so Kakashi-sensei taught me an elemental jutsu yesterday, and my medical ninjutsu isn't terrible anymore. I'm worried about the Forest of Death though."
Shikamaru looks at her carefully,
"Bad experience?"
She knows what he's actually saying is "did this go terribly last time?" Sakura tries to put into words without revealing anything crazy just how bad it had been last time.
"I... Yeah. You could more than say that."
She shudders as she remembers the utter fear she'd felt facing down Orochimaru for the first time, and tries resolutely to ignore how painful it had been to start losing Sasuke, her teammate and friend, and how it all started here. The end of the original Team 7, and when being a ninja went from an exciting and important job to an unendingly painful hellscape, at least for Sakura. Reflexively, she reaches out and grabs Shikamaru's hand briefly.
He squeezes it, then drops her hand carefully.
"Don't be troublesome, Sakura. It'll be fine."
She hears the unspoken, "You'll be okay," lacing his tone, and she forces herself to take a deep breath. Yes, Sakura will be fine. She's not the same scared little girl she was then. She's stronger now, she can fight, and this time her team is going to come out whole. They approach the Forest of Death, and Sakura stays by Shikamaru's side while Anko gives her explanation, and up until Anko demands that they go sign in and pick up their team's scrolls.
She turns to Shikamaru as she goes to join her team,
"Good luck, Shika! I'll see you on the other side!"
She purposely has never told him that his team helps save her in the Forest of Death. Team 7 can fight this time, and she doesn't want Shikamaru, Ino, or Choji anywhere near those terrible Sound ninja that had ambushed them last time. She genuinely hopes his team will stay safe, and for most people, that means staying the hell away from Team 7. Bad luck seems to follow them wherever they go.
She meets up with Sasuke and Naruto, and they retrieve their scroll. Sakura carefully hides it amongst the other scrolls she keeps in her bag. As they head to the gate that will be their starting line, Naruto pipes up in a dramatically loud whisper,
"So, what's our plan?"
Sakura makes a shushing motion, and then says back quietly,
"We attack whatever team we need to get the other scroll, and we get to the tower as quickly as possible. We don't attack other Leaf teams, and we help them out if we find them in trouble. No matter what, we stay together"
Sakura looks at Sasuke, waiting for his approval or disapproval of the plan. He gives her a little bit of an odd look, then nods. Sakura has got to corner him soon and talk to him. This lack of communication is not helping. The whistle sounds, and the exam begins. Sakura runs alongside her team, straight into the Forest of Death.
|
Saga hesitated for a split second. "I think it is best if we leave the humans here for the time being."
Aro turned back towards her sharply. "I beg your pardon?" He demanded darkly.
"They will only make the job harder. It would be best to rescue my sister, and then come back here for them both."
"No."
"Aro, we-"
"My mate is dying. I am not leaving her here to perish on her own.” He scowled at her balefully. “The humans are coming with us." His tone held no room for arguing.
Saga considered him, contemplating their next move.
"It will be impossible to sneak around just the two of us. Add two, bleeding, noisily breathing humans to the mix, and we will be caught for sure."
Aro scowled, realizing she was right. He glanced at his own empty cell. "Well, then bring your sister back here."
She stared at him, anger and impatience warring for control on her pale features. "And how exactly do you suggest I do that?" She spat angrily.
He shrugged elegantly, smoothly stepping back into his cell and closing the door. It squeaked quietly. "Change into Stefan and say she needs to heal the prisoners."
She scoffed darkly. "That will never work. We have to fight our way out of here. Stealth will only take us so far."
"Then make it work, Saga. You have no choice in the matter. Once you have succeeded, you know where to find me." He lifted his arms outwards to indicate the small space he now again occupied.
She stepped towards him angrily. "I will need your help, Aro. You are the strongest one here, I saw you fight."
“And you will again, once we have secured my mate’s life,” he countered smoothly, brushing a speck of dust off his sleeve. His gaze snapped back to her face. Had she been human, her pale face would have been flushed with rage. “You should get going, my dear. Time is ticking,” he said softly, glancing at his dying mate.
She gave one final disparaging huff, then turning on her heel, she marched out of the room, silently closing the door behind her. Aro stared after her, seemingly frozen in position.
“What if she can’t do it, Aro?” Asked a quiet voice out of nowhere.
Turning, Aro saw Charlie’s face, pale and stricken with a mixture of grief and doubt, his dark eyes surveying the dark vampire.
“She will have to,” Aro said, sighing darkly as he walked back towards his dying mate, sitting down and grasping her hand. “She will have no choice, lest I kill her, should she fail.”
SAGA
Leaving Aro behind, filled with a mixture of rage and admiration for the dark king and his stubborness, Saga made her way through the silent hallways, a plan forming in her mind. She paused briefly, listening intently, pondering her options. She could not fail in her task, and so she had to use her strongest asset; her gift.
Coming to a decision on how to proceed, the young woman made her way east, moving stealthily until she found what she was looking for. The hallway that led to the treasury. This was not only where the enemy kept their wealth, but also their data bank. If lost, they would lose the brief stint of power they had procured. It was very heavily guarded.
Saga smirked darkly, then made a not so subtle change. She made her way swiftly towards where she knew the closest guard was standing. He would not survive the night. Neither, she surmised despondently, would she.
ARO
Aro felt entirely too restless to be sitting so still, but he could not let go of Isabella. It had been hours by now, the effort of sitting still was getting almost painful, but he had to stay with her, unable to do much but wait for Saga to return to them.
He was still on the fence with the young woman, but he had no choice but to trust her. His mind felt dark and heavy, with the implications of her actions. He knew that if they by any miraculous chance got out of this mess, he would have to punish her severely for her crimes against his coven. Despite her apparent change of allegiance, he could not forgive her so easily. The damage she had caused was far too great, and he would have to leave no one in doubt that one did not cross The Volturi unpunished, otherwise their latent enemies would definitely get ideas.
Aro glanced at Charlie, who too seemed lost in deep thought. His conscience flickered briefly as he considered the complications of the situation. Saga was Charlie’s mate. Charlie was Isabella’s father. Hurting Saga, would come back to haunt Aro, he knew it. He would have to find a punishment that would not kill her, but equally not be too light. He sighed darkly. Why did everything have to become so tangled and complicated?
He was ripped from his musings, when Bella gave a gurgling cough, her body stirring weakly. Aro caught a whiff of her plasma, and was on his knees in an instant. Her mouth was filled with blood. Panic rose in him as swiftly as an explosive volcanic eruption.
“Isabella?” He said softly, trying to keep his voice calm.
“What is it?” Charlie asked urgently, not fooled by Aro’s feigned calm demeanor.
Aro couldn’t answer. Dread was clogging his throat. He could do nothing but watch as his mate struggled to take another breath, her chest heaving unevenly. She gave a rattling exhale.
Aro stifled a panicked sob, knowing her death was imminent. Disarmed by indecision, he felt his heart seize with anguish. He wanted to bite her, to save her, but knew it was the wrong thing to do. That did not diminish the urge though.
“Aro, do something god damnit!” Charlie's voice mirrored Aro’s feelings perfectly.
“There is nothing I can do, Charlie,” he said, unable to keep his voice steady, grief constricting the words as he came to the most painful realization of his immortal life. “She will have to die, for me to save her.” The words came out painfully, as though they were choking him even though that was quite impossible.
Charlie gave a dry sob as he watched his daughter struggle with death. The smell of tears filled the room, mixing with the scent of blood. “Bells… Fight it, please…” Charlie begged, his grief already pouring from him freely. He knew she could not escape death.
A soft gurgling came from her, her body giving into a brief spasm as she slowly choked on her own blood. Then she grew quite still. The world seemed to freeze over as everything was suddenly silent. Aro could now only detect one frantic heartbeat in the room. The one of the, now only living, human in the room. Charlie’s wail of despair swiftly drowned out any other sound.
No other sound could have convinced Aro more, that his mate was now lying dead on the cold floor of her cell, the men of her life barred from even holding her in her dying moment.
|
Dust hadn’t been waiting up for Blue, he hadn’t! Okay, maybe he had. Maybe Killer, Horror, Error, and Nightmare had been waiting up on him for a while now. They were being very good about it, though. They hadn’t gone scouring the universes for him. There weren’t any frantic calls. They even weren’t sitting in the same room!
Okay, Horror had been cooking up a frenzy, Killer had whittled through nearly the entire log pile, Nightmare actually was out of black writing fluid, and Error had finished two sweaters, but they’d been good the past week or so! Dust had even gotten the scent combination perfect for the gift soap he was making Blue in case he wanted to go back home! It would be the worst outcome, yes, but he wasn’t going to judge. He knew how hard it could be to break out of the cycle of abuse.
So, when Blue walked through the front door of the castle almost two weeks later, still in Error’s nightgown and a nervous smile, Dust totally didn’t break down in soppy, ugly-ass tears. There might be more fluid on his face than there was liquid hate on Killer’s, but that was just, um…
Okay, yeah, he was sobbing like a crazy old woman at her child’s wedding.
Blue looked so uncomfortable standing there in the doorway. Dust couldn’t blame him; crying people weren’t easy for anyone to handle. That visible level of discomfort didn’t last long, though. He was hugging Dust in an instant, despite the weird way it must be making him feel, and Dust felt even worse because he was. It wasn’t that it wasn’t comforting to be held like this; no, it was because he was so sure it was forced. He didn’t like that it had to be forced. No, he didn’t like it at all.
Dust huffed, his air limited not by Blue’s arms but by his own sobs, “You know you don’t have to hug me yet, right? I’m happy you’re okay, and I don’t want you to feel bad or guilty about needing some time and space to yourself. Everyone needs breaks. Don’t force yourself to pretend you’re not sure you’re done with this one.”
Blue winced anyway, even though Dust had tried so hard not to upset him more than he already was. It had been so tricky to get right. Why... Shit. Had he said something wrong?
The smaller skeleton echoed his thoughts out loud, his voice trembling as he said, “I’m not actually feeling- I mean… I didn’t do something wrong, did I?”
Oh, wow, that was kinda sad and cute at the same time. Dust had to be careful about what he said, though. They’d gone way, way to far before. That was way too soon.
Dust coughed. “Nah, I just… you seem kinda stiff is all, Blue. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything ever again, okay? That shit sucks. There’s stuff we’d like, yeah, but you don’t have to. We went too far too fast a few weeks ago, Blue. We need to apologize to you about that. I guess I get to start, huh?”
Blue didn’t seem to hear the last part. “It’s been HOW LONG?!!”
“Um… 18 days, Blue,” Dust admitted reluctantly, not wanting to worry Blue more, “18 days, 9 hours, and 37 minutes. Pappy counted. And Killer, but he was also counting the days because he went to rescue a new kitty and needed to track timing for introductions.”
Pausing in mid breath, Blue clearly processed a new train full of thoughts before letting it out of the station and off on its journey. A few words slipped out of his mouth, “I didn’t mean to be gone that long, but it’s always hard to… wait, rescue? Another? How many cats does Killer have? I know he likes them, but I’ve never been able to figure out how or why he gets a hold of them.”
“He refuses to let any of us into his cattery, so we don’t really know for sure, but it’s a lot. There’s a whole two floors in the north wing of the castle for them, actually. He feels bad for them; we get them from genocide timelines and universes on Error’s list, so they aren’t being stolen or something like that. He just doesn’t want them to be alone like he was. You know how horrible it is to be alone for that long… well, not the same way we do, but you’ve been alone before, right? Especially in the “alone in a crowd of people” way. You were treated pretty badly in your world if that crowd was anything to go by,” Dust said with knowing frustration. That had been-
“What crowd?” Blue fired back, avoiding a question like any Sans would: excellently.
“I went to your world to get you those clothes, Blue,” Dust said, trying to be transparent out of fear of the fear in Blue’s voice, “and there was a crowd that, um, kinda… went after me. They’re gone now. Pappy wasn’t going to let me be merciful to such dirty rapists.”
Blue was looking at him in the oddest way, almost like a Judge would, so Dust went on, “Actually, my magic turned gold there, Blue. You know how weird it is for any world to let me use Justice magic? It’s, like, only ever happened with a few. Lustfell#242, for a start. That was a horrible one for sure. You don’t have to, but it’d be nice to know how they treated you. We can help you recover from it better that way if you want us to.”
“They treated me like I deserved to be treated, Dust, that’s all,” Blue said with a wave of his hand.
“Not going to say that’s wrong yet,” Yet, Dust reaffirmed to himself, “but what did they do? Not to mention, what did you think you did to deserve it, or what did you have to do? I won’t judge. It’s probably not as bad as what Killer and I had to do.”
Blue reluctantly said, “You… you won’t like it.”
“Which one? We definitely won’t like the first, what they did to you, if you’re in this state, Blue. The second? Maybe, maybe not. Again, it’s not like I’m a Judge anymore. I don’t think I have the right to judge you for anything. I’d rather let Nightmare eat the guilt for you, honestly- which reminds me that we should probably go gather up the others so that they know about this, too.”
Even more reluctantly, Blue agreed to that and said, “Okay, you can all know… I’d rather get you all angry with me in one fell swoop.”
|
Chris watched with restrained intensity as MacDonald and the angel lead Vin and a look-alike up the porch steps and into Singer's house. It would be one of the first places they came to look for him, but they had to stop running soon. It wasn't getting them anywhere and it would only be a matter of time before the fairies succeeded. The team all stood immediately, but refrained from crowding the no longer missing man. He'd been skittish before and was only more so now.
One by one the team welcomed Vin back with a shake of the hand, a slap to the shoulder or, in JD's case, an impulsive hug. Until finally it was just Ezra and Chris.
“It is good to see you well, Mr Tanner,” Ezra said, the warmth in his tone belying the formality of his words.
“I...” Vin began, squinting at him a little. “You too, Ezra.”
Despite his words, it was clear Vin's memories still hadn't returned, at least not wholly. Vin never called him 'Ezra', it was always 'Ez'.
“Nayehi,” Baines said.
“Ancient.”
Baines raised an eyebrow.
“Thought it was Immortal.”
“Benefit of distance,” Vin said eventually. Chris wondered if it was more than that with the way the two men were looking at each was any indication. He didn't like Baines's narrowed eyes. There was some connection there, between Vin and all of DiNozzo's team that Chris hadn't known about before Vin's disappearance and couldn't penetrate now. It was frustrating, like it vied for attention with the connection he felt with Vin, which had never been called into question before. Vin wasn't one of theirs, he was one of his.
"Come on," Chris said, lightly touching Vin's elbow. Vin didn't pull away. "We're coming up with a plan to stop them and we could use anything you know.”
Vin smiled again, the smallest quirk of his mouth.
“I might not be all there yet,” Vin said, tapping the side of his head. “But I have the feeling that plans don't always end well.”
“Not ours,” Chris told him with a wry smirk.
"Sounds like fun," Vin said, grinning at him. Chris couldn't help but smile back.
...
Later, Vin found himself sitting around a small table, waiting for what there was of their plan to come to fruition. They only needed to wait for the Tuatha and Fomorians to come for him. Each of them was finding their ways to pass the time until then. Bobby and MacDonald were sorting out the ritual area, but they'd shooed everyone out of the space so they could focus on the complex preparations.
He still couldn't remember all the specifics, but he was starting to remember the emotions he'd attached to them. There wasn't anything there that he felt he couldn't trust. Given that it was the closest he'd come to finding somewhere he fitted, he was willing to go with it,
Ezra watched him closely over the tops of his cards from where he sat across the table. Winchester and Baines sat between them. Ezra didn't seem entirely comfortable with the two men but, from what little Vin remembered, that had something to do with them being FBI, not with the men themselves. Besides, both men seemed to be fairly good at cards.
Baines seemed able to read them all fairly easily, or at least pretend he could. Winchester seemed to be playing with only half his mind on the game, but he didn't seem to be doing too badly either. He watched as Ezra palmed a card and substituted it for another. It wasn't the first time. He raised an eyebrow.
"You used to allow me some liberties," Ezra told him. Winchester snorted. Vin shook his head, not sure he could imagine that. "I believe you found amusement in the others not being as observant as yourself."
"And you cut me in," Vin said with certainty from what he judged from his vague memories of the man. Ezra's smirk was small and sharp.
"Well, I'm out," Winchester said, throwing his cards to the table. Baines kept his inscrutable expression as he tossed a rock salt shell onto the pile of bullets and mystical trinkets in the middle of the table. Vin shook his head and put his own cards on the table, face down.
Ezra and Baines stared at each other, Ezra sharp-eyed and Baines sprawled casually in his chair. It felt comfortable somehow, the comradery, even if the thought of it didn't exactly feel familiar, like something he'd had for a long time.
Finally, Ezra lowered his cards, showing a full house of three jacks and a pair of fours. Baines raised an eyebrow and showed four kings. Ezra's faint smirk faded and he sighed. Baines looked entirely too satisfied with himself, but Vin figured that it wasn't an unfamiliar expression. He didn’t bother to argue what would be a fifth king in his own hand.
"I need a break," Vin said, standing up from the table. Winchester grunted his agreement and moved to where he'd been cleaning his guns before the game had begun. Ezra and Baines continued to stare at each other from across the table.
Vin made his way to the kitchen and grabbed two beers from the fridge. When he turned, he found Martin standing in the doorway. Martin was scrutinising him and Vin realised his half-brother hadn't really had the chance to really see him and their remarkable resemblance since they’d arrived. They hadn’t really had a quite moment either.
"I've come to some conclusions," Martin told him. Vin raised an eyebrow. "They said your memory had some holes and some of them clearly know you better than others, but some of them were clearly unsurprised by my existence."
Vin said and did nothing, not sure what Martin expected from him. He barely knew himself well enough, never mind trying to predict someone he barely knew even before his memory lapse.
"My relationship with my father is... difficult," Martin told him eventually. "I'm not expecting us to be a big happy family. But I want you to know that I always wanted a brother and when all this is over," Martin gestured vaguely around them, "I'd like to keep in touch. You know, whatever you feel comfortable with."
Vin nodded, wondering what had kept him from contacting the man before.
"How are you dealing?" he asked instead. Martin shrugged.
"I'm working under the assumption that I'm slowly freezing to death in that room and anything to do with fairies, angels, and everything is my brain's delusional way of protecting itself."
Vin smiled and Martin smiled back before he turned and left the doorway. A moment later, Vin ventured to the porch, where Chris stood, staring out at the setting sun. Chris glanced at him, silently accepting the offered beer and they settled in comfortably next to each other. Vin felt like this must be something they did often.
"Your view's better," Vin told him, leaning his arms against the railing. He felt like the view should have been accompanied by the faint sound of horses and the clean smell of outdoors, not the smell of oil and rust, and the creaking of cars settling. Chris smirked faintly and took a long drink. He seemed more settled, but Vin wasn’t sure what had changed.
That’s when Vin felt a shift in the air and a chill shiver down his spine.
“They’re here,” he said and Chris nodded, looking out over the yard as if he’d sensed the shift too. Chris’s expression became grim and they turned back inside, beers abandoned on the railing.
|
Sasuke stood out on one of the curving verandas that every building in Tanigakure seemed to have and wondered distantly how soon he could get out of here. He pressed his forehead against one of the veranda's smooth wooden posts and closed his eyes, breathing in the faint, rising cool of the river flowing through the bottom of the valley. He wanted to be gone from this place.
Not because Hidden Valley was a trial to stay in or anything. It was a pleasant village, and if the sloping sides of a deep gorge seemed like a precarious place to build a village, at least the floor and lip of the valley were thick enough with trees to make him feel at home.
Not because the mission was going badly. It was going fine from what he could see. Valley's council had agreed to relax the border controls between River and Fire countries, to allow larger groups of Leaf shinobi across as long as they presented proper notice of their mission at the border, instead of having to wait for approval from the village. The Master of Valley even seemed a bit charmed by Kakashi, and even her most uptight councilors seemed to approve of Sasuke.
Oh yes. Sasuke knew why the Fifth had sent him along. Over half the council were members of the Yasumori clan, and Yasumori was a clan like Hyuuga, like Uchiha had been--old and dignified. The longer he was here, the more Sasuke found himself falling back into old habits, found formalities coming easily to his lips, found himself reading at a glance the little indications of clan politics, of who was supporting or feuding with whom. It was exactly what Kakashi needed as he dealt with the Yasumori, so here Sasuke was.
And it hurt.
Every time he bowed at just that angle that said he was a son of the senior branch; every time one of the Yasumori unthinkingly cleared the way for him in response; every time he recognized the tiny grimace that said Yasumori Koujirou really wanted to disagree with Yasumori Michiru no matter what their clan head had told them about solidarity in front of outsiders; every time he saw those things and looked by reflex for familiar eyes, eyes like his, and found only the green and hazel of Yasumori, it hurt.
Maybe it would have been better if Naruto or Sakura had been along on this mission. Maybe they would have been able to remind him that he was someone else, now, building a new clan and not the son of an old one. Maybe that would only have made it worse; he didn't know. All he knew was that he thought he might give his soul to look into eyes like his own tonight, and the last of those in the world were both traitor and dead.
"Sasuke?"
Kakashi's voice startled him, but he stifled a flinch (because a noble didn't show his reactions like that) and raised his head. It was starting to get dark and his teacher was a shadow in the cool dimness under the veranda roof. "Is there a meeting?" he asked steadily.
Kakashi's visible brow quirked just a bit. "No meeting. And it looks like that's just as well."
Sasuke flushed. He should be concealing his hurt better than that. "I'll be fine," he insisted. "It's just..." He bit off the explanation.
"Hm." Kakashi came to lean silently on the veranda rail beside him, looking down over the curved roofs below them, fading away into the gorge as dusk fell. Only a few lamps had come on, yet, to re-trace the outlines of the village. It was quiet here where the guest houses stood, and the soft rush of the river below blended with the murmur of people a handful of steep, wooden streets away. "It's just what?" Kakashi asked, just as Sasuke was relaxing again.
"Familiar." It slipped out without thought, and Sasuke gave his teacher a quick glower for getting that out of him.
"I did wonder about that," Kakashi murmured, not minding the glare at all which was just typical. "Unfortunately, I was the only jounin free to send on this one and you were the only noble of a senior branch free to come. At least the only one I could trust to tell me all I need to know."
That confidence in him warmed and hurt, both. "I'll be fine," Sasuke repeated, with determination if not quite as much surety as he'd have liked.
"Hmmm."
Sasuke stiffened at first, but the sound wasn't doubtful; just thoughtful. Of course, that wasn't any less alarming for anyone who knew Hatake Kakashi.
Even knowing that, though, he wasn't prepared for Kakashi to straighten and casually push up his forehead protector, looking down at Sasuke with his Sharingan uncovered. After days on end of furiously suppressing his desire for his own clan, the reminder that there was another Leaf shinobi with Uchiha eyes hit Sasuke like a fist in the gut and stopped his breath just as surely.
"I wondered," Kakashi repeated quietly, and lifted a hand to rest on Sasuke's shoulder, warm and sure, just holding him.
Sasuke caught his breath again in a deep gasp, and a confusion of words and thoughts tumbled up to his lips. "Sensei... I mean, senpai... I... Kakashi-san..." In his heart it was none of those, but he didn't dare say it. It would be too much.
Kakashi's hand tightened, strong and reassuring, and the tangle of want in Sasuke was joined by a simpler, more familiar heat that made his breath hitch a little. He swayed forward before he caught himself, uncertain. He thought Kakashi smiled just a little behind his mask, and a thumb stroked up and down his neck gently.
"It's all right," Kakashi told him, soft as the deepening dusk. "You're my team here, Sasuke; you know I'll take care of you." And then Sasuke just had to stand and stare, because he hooked a finger over the edge of his mask and slid it down.
When they'd all been younger, his team had schemed wildly to get a glimpse of their teacher's face. As they'd gotten older, Sasuke had come to understand there was no great mystery, only an entrenched habit of concealment; and he could understand that perfectly well, and had stopped trying to get past it. And now here it was, set aside for him just as easily as this. It was the simplicity of it that let the heart-deep words slip out as Sasuke leaned closer, hands coming up to Kakashi's chest, the way he would have called any of the older cousins.
"Kakashi-niisan."
His teacher smiled, a startlingly clear curve of firm lips. "Yes." He tipped Sasuke's chin up and kissed him, slow and easy, watching him with that half-lidded red eye, and Sasuke's heart turned over and sped up. There were things he'd never had the chance to learn but had still heard about; things about how the sight of the Sharingan could be used in bed. The way Kakashi's tongue stroked over his and swept through his mouth made him wonder if it had all been true, because before long he was clinging to his teacher's shoulders and panting for breath thanks to that slow, wet slide.
The street lamp outside their guest house came on, casting the fineness of Kakashi's profile into relief as he finally drew back, making the silver of his hair shine as he tilted his head toward the door. "I think this is better carried on inside, hm?"
Sasuke swallowed and murmured, husky, "Yes, Kakashi-niisan." He expected Kakashi to turn the lights on when the door closed behind him, but the room stayed fully dark, and Sasuke's eyes widened as he understood. He took a breath and activated his own Sharingan, and a flash of hope and excitement ran through him as the shapes of the room faded into his sight, dim against the shifting brightness of Kakashi. The thought of having an older clanmate again (kind of; close enough!) to guide and teach him made him shiver--hard enough that, when Kakashi held out his hands, Sasuke stumbled going to meet him. It had been so long.
He was caught and pulled close against the heat of Kakashi's body, feeling it and seeing it, and when Kakashi's hand slid down his back to just the right place to support him he knew he was being seen the same way. "Please," he whispered, and lifted his face to meet Kakashi's mouth on his.
Their clothes ended up scattered across the room, a vest flung over one chair, Sasuke's shirt dropped onto the low table, Kakashi's pants kicked into the corner, and when Sasuke finally got to feel the the sleek heat of Kakashi's skin against his own he moaned. He could see every shift of response in Kakashi's chakra as his hands traced over the solid muscle of his teacher's back and shoulders, and knowing he was just as bare to Kakashi's eyes, to his Sharingan, was enough all by itself to make him hard.
And it wasn't all by itself.
Sasuke came up onto his toes, body arching helplessly taut as one strong hand closed between his legs and calloused fingers stroked his cock knowingly. "Kakashi-niisan," he gasped, wanting, almost pleading, and Kakashi's fingers tightened as he caught Sasuke's mouth in another kiss, deep and hard. Sasuke lost it all in a second, coming with a strangled groan as heat wrung him out fiercely, over and over, until he was leaning against Kakashi and gasping for breath. "Wha..."
"Mm. Now maybe we can take it a little slower," Kakashi-san murmured against his ear, and Sasuke could hear the smile in his voice, see it in the shift of his chakra. He was sure his hot blush was just as visible, and felt the vibration of his teacher's chuckle through the broad chest he rested against.
"Yes, Kakashi-niisan," Sasuke managed, a little embarrassed and a little delighted with the teasing. It felt good, intimate and casual and like clan.
He let Kakashi guide him down to the bed, watching the tight, patient coil of his teacher's chakra, the focus of it. That focus was in the hands that slid down his body, slow and sure, spreading his thighs until he gasped, kneading the drawn muscles of his stomach until they relaxed into heat, cupping his ass and squeezing just once, hard enough to make him moan. He reached back, for once a little shy next to his teacher's experience, watching with the clarity of the Sharingan and the dizziness of the heat in him to see what Kakashi liked, what his chakra brightened for. He trailed his hands down Kakashi's chest to stroke lightly over his cock and was answered by a low sound and swift downward shift of chakra. That gave him an idea, and he licked his lips.
"Kakashi-niisan? Can I...?" He slid his fingers down the length of Kakashi's cock.
After one still moment, Kakashi's fingers slid through his hair and tipped his head back for a slow kiss. "Yes," Kakashi murmured into his mouth.
Kakashi's hand slid through his hair as he settled between Kakashi's legs, and Sasuke leaned into his fingers. That made the coiled lines of Kakashi's chakra ease before Sasuke even touched him, and fresh heat curled through Sasuke. If his teacher wanted to guide him in this, too...
"Kakashi-niisan." He rested his cheek against Kakashi's thigh, looking up at him. "Will you show me?"
"Show you?" Long fingers stroked lightly through his hair again, and Kakashi's voice sounded perfectly casual, but his chakra was still flowing in tight, poised lines.
"How to do this for you."
For one instant, Kakashi's chakra coiled even tighter, as if he hadn't expected Sasuke to see what he wanted. But then it relaxed all at once, spread out into the soft edges of acceptance. The flicker in it matched the flash of wry amusement in Kakashi's voice. "Yes. I think that will do. For both of us."
Kakashi's hand slid down to cup Sasuke's cheek and guide him down, and the heat in Sasuke's stomach turned heavier. He opened his mouth and slid his lips down Kakashi's cock, and moaned as Kakashi's other hand wove into his hair. This was good. He gave himself up to the signs of Kakashi's hand against his head, of the long fingers wrapped around his jaw, of the flow and flare of Kakashi's chakra, moving as he was shown until the thickness of Kakashi's cock was sliding in and out of his mouth, over his tongue, slow and steady.
And Kakashi was careful with him. Didn't press him down too far. Kept his hands gentle, even as his breath was coming faster and deeper and his chakra was falling and brightening. It was good, good to feel that, good to trust it, good to watch that sharp, red eye on him in the darkness and know he was being seen by kin, by clan.
(Close enough!)
And then Kakashi's hand was sliding under his chin, lifting his head. "Enough," his teacher said, husky. "Come here."
Sasuke slid back up Kakashi's body and was caught tight against him, kissed hard as he wrapped his arms around Kakashi's solid shoulders. The room spun as Kakashi turned them, laid him down, but that was all right because Kakashi's chakra was steady, a stable anchor like Kakashi's weight over him. The rush of heat as strong hands slid down his thighs and caught his knees to spread him wide open, so wide, drowned his thoughts and he moaned openly, pinned down under Kakashi's gaze.
"Mmm." It was a satisfied sound. "I thought this might do for both of us, yes." Kakashi's smile was clear. "Well, since my hands are busy, why don't you get me ready, Sasuke?" he teased. "I think your vest is by the bed."
Sasuke flailed wordlessly for his vest and fished in the inner pockets. Knife oil, muscle salve, no, ah there it was. He slicked his fingers with gel and reached down to slide them over Kakashi, completely unable to help the soft moan when he thought about the cock in his hands sliding inside him.
Knowing Kakashi, that was probably the idea.
And his breath cut short again as Kakashi's eye on him sharpened. "Now," Kakashi told him softly, and Sasuke grabbed for his arms, fingers closing tight as Kakashi's cock pressed against him, into him. Slowly. Very slowly.
"It's all right, Sasuke," Kakashi murmured to him as he gasped. "I see you. I've got you."
Shudders were running through him under Kakashi's hands. The stretch of it was hard, just on the edge of too hard but never past it, because Kakashi was seeing him, every flicker of response in his body and chakra, and that had Sasuke making little moans of want, low in his throat. The thick slide opening him just kept going; as soon as Kakashi was all the way in he was drawing back again, smooth and slow, never pausing, fucking Sasuke so steadily that he was half out of his mind with the rush of sensation.
And it just kept going.
His throat was dry with panting for breath he never caught, and his legs were trembling in Kakashi's hold, and it took him forever to even think to free one hand from their frantic grip on Kakashi's shoulders and reach down to fist around his own cock. Kakashi made a husky sound at that, and thrust into him harder, and Sasuke's stroke tightened at the rush of heat. "Kakashi-niisan," he whispered, pleading.
"Look at me, Sasuke," Kakashi ordered, velvety in the darkness, and Sasuke looked up to meet the intent eyes above him, caught by that familiar red, focusing his own gaze on it.
And it changed, spinning into the scythe wheel of Kakashi's Mangekyou Sharingan, the deepest power of their clan.
Response slammed through Sasuke like a wave crashing up the shore and he groaned as fire flashed down every nerve and wrung him fiercely until he was breathless, senseless, aware of nothing but heat and the eye that locked his gaze. His body was wringing down so hard he was barely aware of Kakashi driving into him deep and fast, but he saw the answering brightness flash through Kakashi's chakra, spilling through like a waterfall. Pleasure sang through him until he thought he might break before it peaked and dimmed slowly with the ebb of their chakra.
They were both still for a long moment before Kakashi gently eased Sasuke's legs down to the bed again and stretched out, drawing him close. Sasuke lay quietly against him, feeling completely limp and more at peace than he'd been since they took this mission.
"It's true, you know."
Sasuke made an inquiring sound, and Kakashi's hand came up to cradle his head against Kakashi's shoulder, careful and tender.
"For the sake of Obito's gift to me, I was affiliated with the Uchiha. There was no other lawful way to respect his wishes. I never claimed anything of the clan, but the fact remains." His thumb rubbed slowly up and down the tendons of Sasuke's neck as Sasuke stiffened, mind blank. "You know who your family is now, Sasuke. But if you need clan, too... remember it's here."
Sasuke wrapped his arms tight around Kakashi's chest and whispered against his shoulder, "All right."
It was a shock. And yet it wasn't. He'd never suspected it was official, but Kakashi was his teacher, the one he went to when he'd found something new in the clan records, the one who understood what the Sharingan saw and did. The one who had held him and seen him tonight, the way one of his clan would have if there had been time. Sasuke let his breath out and edged closer on the bed.
Kakashi relaxed too, and his lips brushed over Sasuke's forehead, and Sasuke settled into his teacher's arms as easily as he would into any of his kin's.
|
Ichigo didn't know what to make of his fellow prisoner.
The kid was young, only a few years younger than himself, and he certainly didn't seem like a threat before or after his near panic attack – Ichigo's first thought upon waking up was a despairing I'm never gonna hear the end of this because there was no way in hell any of his friends, shinigami or human, would let him live this down - but then again, the orange-haired teen knew better than anyone that looks weren't everything. A cat could be a woman, a child could be two hundred years old, it didn't matter.
Tsuna though...was a quiet power that hummed beneath the younger teens skin that Ichigo only barely picked up on, something warm and fierce, familiar and completely unlike any energy Ichigo had felt before, and it wasn't until Tsuna spoke that Ichigo found he was no pushover.
But that didn't explain why either of them were here.
Ichigo was just a regular human high school student (when exactly he'd started specifying human he would never know) with a normal family, a few strange absences, a penchant for trouble, and an odd case of cardiac arrest or two. From what he could see, Tsuna seemed like a normal middle school student, maybe a bit shy and soft-spoken, but for a brief moment Ichigo saw something like potential shine in him. He shook off the notion as soon as it'd come.
As far as he knew, no one outside of his friends and allies knew of his moonlighting as a shinigami, and if they did, what did they think they would gain by imprisoning him?
They probably want to study me or something. He grimaced at the thought, remembering the leering glares he would get from Mayuri, or how he would sometimes catch Urahara's shrewd, calculating stare from the corner of his eye after doing something particularly out of the norm.
After hearing Tsuna's story, his mind immediately thought no such thing as coincidences, this is just a huge set-up but who, or what, would have so much influence over both worlds? If his suspicions were right and this was all an elaborate trap, not only would their information network have to be extensive and professional, but the money, planning, and time it would take to create such specific opportunities for their friends to be gone at the same time while making it seem completely random…these people were definitely not half-assing anything. It was a scheme worthy of Aizen or Urahara. It would take another four days, at least, for any of their friends or family to notice their absence.
All this work just to capture two seemingly average teenagers…
If they did find out something so impossible about him – a human shinigami with hollow powers, one-of-a-kind, Ichigo mentally snorted – what could Tsuna be hiding?
Assuming that they know about my situation and that Tsuna is more than just a middle schooler, they probably have some pretty damn good spies if Urahara-san or Yoruichi-san didn't mention anyone watching us before they left. Unless those assholes decided not to tell me anything until the last minute. Still...having those kinds of contacts means influence. Influence means power and money. Yakuza? Crazy, rich bastard with too much time on his hands?
In a dark corner of his mind, Keigo's annoying voice shouted it's the government! They're watching us! and Ichigo was inclined to agree, although he was thinking of a different government.
For a brief moment, the bright haired teen had suspected Soul Society had something to do with his kidnapping, but the doubt left as quickly as it came. Rukia had impressed upon him the fact that even though Shinigami came and went as needed, not even the Four Noble Families could extend their control to the material world. Those laws were as old as the foundations of Sereitei, laws that Central 46 couldn't amend, and trying to do so would therefore be an incredibly stupid thing to do. And Ichigo had more allies than enemies these days, and he was sure he'd have at least the Vizard and his closest shinigami friends on his side if anything came to a head.
Still, he wouldn't put it passed the government that had fallen under Aizen's thrall for centuries, condemned one human girl on baseless accusations of betrayal when they couldn't even see the traitors in their own ranks, to completely miss something like this. Maybe even orchestrate it.
Which lead him back to square one.
He sighed in frustration, irritated that he didn't have enough information, but he didn't need his instincts to tell him he and Tsuna were probably in over their heads.
He frowned pensively, leaving that train of thought for later. From their short talk, he got the feeling that this wasn't Tsuna's first time involved in something dangerous (after all, what kind of kid his age should be reassuring someone older than him that they'd be saved, that his friends were coming to help?), but that didn't mean the brunette deserved to be in this situation.
He seemed like a good kid, compassionate and morally sound and other things that Ichigo respected. There was something else too, an overwhelming kindness that couldn't be mistaken for vulnerability that the Visored recognized because it strongly reminded him of Orihime, of her everlasting tolerance and patience and sweetness that held a degree of solidarity he, Chad, and Ishida relied on in almost every battle. Seeing it in Tsuna was unexpected but only cemented the idea in his mind that Tsuna was different, but that couldn't be the reason he was stuck down in a dungeon with Ichigo, right?
That was why, when those six men had walked down the corridor, Ichigo kept a close eye on the brunettes' reactions. The way the younger teen stiffened, eyes wide with wariness and mouth turned down in alarm, was a clear warning before Ichigo felt what Tsuna must've picked up on.
The smell of death.
As the group casually made their way down the corridor, Ichigo instantly scowled again, expression darkening when he saw Tsuna's discomfort at being stared like one of the Twelfth Divisions' experiments.
"Look what we have here…" the youngest one leered.
Ichigo figured he was the youngest, anyway, but the man was easily into his late twenties or early thirties. The other two men, one silent as the grave holding an intimidating boar's head cane and the other standing with a proud stance much like Byakuya but too arrogant to be similar, were probably in their fifties with salt and pepper hair streaked with grey and stern lines etched deeply into their craggy faces. The two guards from earlier came up in the rear. The last man was too far back for Ichigo to see clearly, wrapped in the shadows of poor lighting, but he was the one that had most of Ichigo's attention.
"Kurosaki Ichigo and Sawada Tsunayoshi." The youngest ones smile took a maniacal edge, drawing their attention, "I'm flattered you two have decided to drop by…my two guests of honor."
Ichigo leveled the creepy one talking with an irritated stare for distracting him, lifting his wrist and rattling the heavy chains, "I'd hate to see how you treat your prisoners." He retorted blandly, catching Tsuna's half-incredulous, half-exasperated expression of oh-my-god-what-are-you-doing and I-knew-this-was-going-to-happen (and maybe a bit of you're-going-to-be-the-death-of-me). It was a familiar expression but at least his shoulders were no longer tight with tension.
Creepy sneered and the guard from earlier stepped forward with a snarl, "Watch yer tongue when yer in the presence of the Baron, boy, or I'll rip it outta yer mouth. We don't need ya here to talk after all."
One of the middle-aged men, the quiet one, raised a hand and the guard immediately quieted, not even glowering at Ichigo as he stepped back into line. The second one with a haughty smirk spoke better Japanese than the guard, but his words still held a guttural accent Ichigo couldn't place, "Fret not, you both are far more valuable than mere prisoners." He jerked his head, and the two guards moved forward to Tsuna's cell.
Tsuna didn't look scared or intimidated, which was what Ichigo would've expected of anyone else, but he did look a bit worried as the guards stood imposingly over him with a pair of black handcuffs. Ichigo watched carefully and clenched his fists tightly when Tsuna managed to dodge their first try at capturing him but could move no further, sagging in exhaustion as soon as the cuffs made contact with his skin.
Ichigo's jaw clenched tightly, jumping to his feet and standing at his full height, "What did you do." It wasn't a question or request, but a demand.
He felt his reiatsu pressure rise, and by the wary expression on the guards faces, they were feeling the raging ocean of energy inside him stirring angrily. The young man stepped back, face twisted into a sneer, but before Ichigo could repeat himself, the sixth man in the shadows flashed forward in a blur with a speed his human body wasn't accustomed to defending against. He jerked back and dodged the first few attempts at restraining him with what looked like cuffs made of white stone, but his back hit the all at the same time the restraints were secured around his wrist.
His eyes felt heavy immediately and he felt the chilling numbness that surrounded him slowly seep into his soul, Zangetsu and his hollow's already muted voices quieting to nothing.
"Stupid gorilla! Go back to the jungle!"
"Watch it, shrimp! I'll duel you now and take my rightful spot as Ukitake-taichou's third seat!"
"Ha! You couldn't beat me with my eyes close and both hands tied behind my back, you stinking caveman!"
"Please, like I'd be afraid of a little mouse like you. Go eat some lettuce, little rabbit, and let the real shinigami take care of the work around here."
"Why you-!"
"Kotetsu-san, Kotsubaki-san, please quiet down."
Both third seats immediately straightened at the sound of their vice-captains kind but stern voice. "Hai, Kuchiki-fukutaichou! My apologies!" Almost immediately, they glared at each other for speaking at the same time, oblivious to Rukia's amused gaze.
With a sigh, she waved her hand. "Carry on."
Rukia didn't have time to enjoy or get annoyed by their usual antics today seeing as she was almost late for the vice-captains meeting, followed by the Captain's Council right after. Even though it would be her fourth time in attendance, she was still nervous and excited to be there. Not even two years ago, the Captain-Commander would never have allowed any seat below captain class to be present. The thought brought a smile to her face, remembering her reaction upon first hearing about the procedural change from Ukitake-taichou.
Ukitake smiled reassuringly at her, "There's nothing wrong, Rukia-chan. We were just informed by Yamamoto-soutaichou about a few changes he's making to the Gotei 13."
Rukia blinked, "Changes?"
Ukitake settled more comfortably behind his desk, features relaxed with a healthy color on his cheeks due to his improving health, "As you know, captains typically meet once every two weeks to discuss important issues within our specific divisions and Soul Society as a whole." Rukia nodded, a tad impatiently, earning her an indulgent chuckle that made her face flush, "As decreed by the Captain-Commander, starting now for as long as the Gotei 13 stands, vice-captains are permitted to attend Captain's Councils on the first week of every month."
The young Kuchiki stared, wide-eyed and star struck for a moment before shaking herself, "Vice-captains a-are what now? I'm allowed to attend a Captain's Council with you? I-I thought only the Central 46 could make those decisions."
Ukitake smiled again, kindly with a touch of wistfulness that she didn't quite understand, "Change has come, Rukia-chan, for the Gotei 13 and all of Soul Society."
Ichigo, expression set in unwavering determination and bull-headed stubbornness, came to mind.
The Thirteenth Division captain's expression shifted for a moment, as if he had heard her thoughts and agreed, "The new Central 46 is much more liberal with their rulings, and although we are no longer under Martial Law, Yamamoto-soutaichou has much more freedom with the divisions than before. After everything that's happened, most of the captains agreed that the vice-captains should be much more involved."
Even sentenced to Muken, wrapped in darkness for nearly twenty millennia, he's still influencing us…Rukia thought bitterly. If anything, destroying the previous Central 46 was probably the only good thing Aizen had done even though she could only admit it in the darkest recesses of her mind, a thought so traitorous and ugly that she couldn't help but feel dirty for even believing it. But it was true.
"I see. So when will the first meeting be?"
Ukitake's smile became ever so slightly devious, and Rukia had learned early on from Kaein that that particular expression never boded well for those on the receiving end.
Ukitake-taichou is one of the oldest shinigami in Sereitei, Kuchiki. He's gotta keep himself entertained somehow, right?
"Tomorrow."
Rukia blinked once. Twice.
Her captain's serene smile never wavered.
"TOMORROW?!"
Vice-captains were used to attending meetings – it was an unwritten prerequisite for any seated officer, though second seat had the most responsibilities – within their divisions or collaborating with other Shinigami, and sometimes even attending social gatherings. Every once in a while, lieutenants would have their own assemblies to help their captains run things smoothly and get along internally within the ranks of the Gotei 13, making plans and trading ideas in case any of their captains were unable to continue with their duties and the lieutenant had to carry on (Kira, Hisagi, and Hinamori, shouldering each other through their captains initial defections and the war afterwards, had more than enough experience in that regard, bitter but hard-learned lessons they'd eventually divulged to the rest).
It was much less formal than the Captains Council, and often times only nine out of twelve would attend regularly when not on a mission, so when the Captain Commander mandated that lieutenants be in attendance with the captains in First Division Headquarters once a month…it was safe to say more than a few felt unprepared and a little nervous.
The vice-captains had no problems with their own division leaders, but dealing with more than one captain was intimidating. Seeing all thirteen in one room, stone-faced and professional, flooding with insurmountable power, control, and skill, was absolutely nerve-wracking.
Thus their Lieutenant's Assembly began, a consensus falling over all vice-captains to have a brief, organizational meeting before the Captain's Council to gather information in order to present it in a much more structured manner in front of their captains and the Commander as well as lessen the chance that they'd make a fool of themselves in front of the highest ranking Shinigami in Soul Society.
Rukia was so lost in thought that she didn't notice the other shinigami before they collided, nearly sending her to the ground. She noticed the flash of flaming red hair and immediately kicked the offender in the shin, savoring the satisfying yelp, "Watch where you're walking, Renji."
Renji glowered at her, rubbing his shin. "Hey, I was just coming to make sure you made it on time. You know how uptight Shuuhei gets when one of us is even a minute late."
Rukia smirked, "I thought you'd be more wary of Ise-fukutaichou after she chewed you out last month. She is head of the Lieutenant's Assembly after all."
"I was giving Kuchiki-taichou overdue paperwork!"
"And why was it overdue?"
"I – well, he – uh…" The redhead stuck his tongue out at her and continued to banter as they made their way to the Eighth Division barracks.
"You're late."
Renji quailed under Ise Nanao's stern gaze, discreetly taking a half-step behind Rukia as the petite woman towered over them both with the same glare that more often than not got the Eighth Division captain to do his paperwork.
Rukia swallowed hard and nodded politely, "We apologize for the delay, Ise-fukutaichou."
She emphasized her 'we' by jabbing an elbow into Renji's side, who gave a pained grin in apology.
Nanao glared them down for another moment before relenting and turning her attention back to the assembled lieutenants watching in amusement. Despite adding three captains to vacant divisions, not much had changed in the vice-captain ranks except for Mashiro's presence sharing Hisagi's seat in the Ninth Division (which was more for Kensei's sake rather than there being any doubt to Hisagi's ability to run the division).
"All right, time to begin the fourth gathering of the Lieutenant's Assembly. First Division."
Chojiro Sasakibe straightened where he stood, "Present. No new news regarding the disappearances of the three First Division unseated officers, Kanjiro Hirose, Mina Sekozawa, or Ikku Kokan. Fourteenth Seat, Rei Numata, reported the residents of Kusajishi, North Rukongai, have also disappeared. Twelfth Division members are analyzing the area."
Nanao nodded, lips thinned into a hard line as she swiftly took notes on her clipboard, and Mashiro fell silent.
Rukia couldn't blame them – the incidents and disappearances, which had started nearly three weeks ago, were too much like one hundred years ago, when whole districts used to vanish because of Aizen's experiments. "Second Division."
Omaeda swallowed a mouthful of chips, "Present. No disappearances or deaths in the Second Division, but a few Onmitsukido members returned injured a week ago with severe burns. They've been hospitalized but none have woken up yet. No information so far."
And so it went, with every division vice-captain giving his or her report – except Kira, who was on a mission in the southern districts with a small squad of four under his command and not expected to return for another five days. Nearly everyone was grimfaced by the end, each division reporting strange situations or disappearances of seated and unseated officers. The Fourth Division vice-captain, Kotetsu Isane, divulged that Unohana was having trouble treating the wounds on some of the seated officers that were injured in the field like the Onmitsukido members, but more would be revealed at the Captain's Council.
The most disturbing report was from the Twelfth Division.
Kurotsuchi Nemu was impassive, "The Twelfth Division has multiple teams analyzing reports and collecting samples from North Rukongai, District 79, and West Rukongai, District 80 where Omaeda-fukutaichou and Matsumoto-fukutaichou reported souls disappearing. Raw data indicates that residents did not disappear but were killed and their reiyoku was degraded. Reports are inconclusive as to what could cause such corrosive damage not already recorded in the Twelfth Division's files. All other information is classified."
Everyone was silent.
Renji sighed, rolling his neck to relieve the knots he could feel building and dispelling the tension in the room, "Well, better get going. Don't wanna keep the captains waiting."
The other lieutenants nodded in agreement and headed out.
"ICHIGOOOO!"
Said orange-haired teen sighed and with a disinterested expression, swiftly clotheslined his hyperactive friend before he could get even more rambunctious.
Keigo had gotten better over the year and a half, able to reign in the impulsive urges that used to get him slapped by every female within ten feet of him (Ichigo didn't like to think about it because he knew Keigo's maturity was partially due to Aizen's influence), but sometimes he reverted to his young, freshman self. He ignored the pathetic choking noises his friend made as the group settled on the rooftop without a glance at the familiar scene.
"Kurosaki-kun, what are you doing over break?" Orihime asked, bright and bubbly as usual.
Something less than brilliant still lingered in her gaze, remnants of Tsukishima's meddling in her memories still plaguing her (and even deeper, the nightmares of her capture and the war), but she was better overall and smiled in a familiar, sweet way.
"Tatsuki-chan invited me to a mixed martial arts tournament! They have these cooking classes in the building across the street for free to teach proper nutrition for athletes! I'm so excited!"
Ichigo held back a snort – those instructors were in for a real treat when they saw what Orihime tried to feed her friends on a weekly basis.
"Sounds fun. Going to assert your dominance over the other contestants, Tatsuki?"
The black haired martial artist smirked in reply, "Nah, but my coach scored me some backstage passes to meet some of the seminar instructors in person. I'm gonna challenge every one of them to an arm wrestling match if it's the last thing I do!" She flexed her arms for good measure and dragged Keigo into a loose chokehold, eliciting a round of snickers and nervous laughter from the captive teen.
Ichigo glanced at Chad questioningly, silently giving him his cherry tomatoes Yuzu packed extras of, and the gentle giant nodded in thanks, "The school accepted my request to be a student representative to Mexico. I'm leaving a day before break begins." His intention to visit his grandfathers' grave, to made amends after what the other Xcution members had done, was understood and left unsaid.
The general question turned to Keigo, now free of Tatsuki's terrifying hold, "I'm stuck going to a bunch of my sisters stupid Student Council meetings out of town. Mizuiro's only coming cause his new girlfriend lives out by where our main stop is."
Mizuiro smiled politely – with an edge of sadistic amusement, Ichigo noted – as their usual banter began.
The group was used to their shenanigans and turned to the Quincy sitting among them. "What about you, Ishida-kun?"
Ishida's proper posture became noticeably rigid and Orihime opened her mouth to backtrack but the Quincy merely sighed, relaxing slightly as he did so, and reluctantly divulged, "My…father and I are traveling to Tokyo for the majority of the break to attend a medical conference."
Ishida's usual stern expression gave nothing away but Ichigo knew him better than that and saw the lines of tension around his mouth as well as the flash of anticipation that flickered through his steady gaze. The Quincy wasn't nearly as put-off as he tried to make himself sound, but he wasn't exactly jumping for joy at the prolonged, isolated contact with his father.
"He's going to teach me more about the Quincies history as well as a few techniques," his eyes sharpened with amusement and some exasperation when he sent a pointed look at Ichigo, "and he wants to keep me far away from bad company for as long as possible."
Ichigo scowled as his friends laughed, but his expression melted into one of content. Okay, so maybe he wasn't the greatest influence in the three worlds, but it he didn't make the younger Quincy fight – although he was partially to blame for the many incidents surrounding Karakura.
Orihime turned to him expectantly and he gave a half-shrug. "Yuzu won some prize drawing and got a few tickets to a beach side resort for a week."
Orihime blinked in surprise, "So you're going to be out of town too?"
Ichigo shook his head, "Not interested."
As much fun as it would've been to lie in the sun and just relax with his family for once, the orange-haired teen found the idea unappealing.
It wasn't just him being suspicious of the sudden good fortune going around (which he totally was and, with his luck, it was completely justifiable) or him just being a stick in the mud (also justifiable), but he needed some time to himself.
He was thankful to have his powers back, grateful to the shinigami that had put their faith in him, and glad that he could finally help protect Karakura with his friends again, but adjusting to his previous lifestyle after months of living without it (without the comfort of half his soul, without the power that hummed beneath his skin, without the ability to protect) wasn't something he wanted to do in a hotel. He wanted to be by himself without dwelling on the 'what ifs' that had dominated his life for the last year and a half. He needed time to reconnect with his soul and explore the new realms his Fullbring had opened.
Tatsuki rolled her eyes at his offhanded answer but didn't say anything.
She'd run into Yuzu, quite literally, the day the young girl got the tickets and listened as Yuzu babbled cutely about how much fun it would be to go on vacation with her sister and father but that she would miss Ichigo and Tatsuki-nee, can you make sure Onii-chan is okay while we're gone? When Tatsuki had asked why Ichigo wasn't going with them, Yuzu brightened, face glowing with adoration for her big brother that made Tatsuki smile. There were five tickets so Onii-chan suggested taking Jinta and Ururu instead since Urahara-san and Tessai-san are out of town. He says he wants to stay home and relax but he's just being nice again!
Tatsuki knew that wasn't the whole reason (and note to self, she really had to figure out who the hell Jinta, Tessai, and all these people were, she'd known about Soul Society and Shinigami for over a year now dammit), but she wouldn't push it this time.
Instead, she leered, "Yeah right. You just don't want your old man to hook you up with any beach bunnies and cause a scene."
Ichigo rolled his eyes and grumbled half-heartedly as his friends laughed and soon he was laughing with them, but something in his chest coiled tightly despite the happiness that flooded him.
His friends were happy, his family was safe, and he could finally do his duty as a substitute shinigami again.
So why did everything feel so wrong?
|
Chapter 19: Family
The Ghost approached the Rebel Fleet gathered deep past the Outer Rim of Imperial space, a massive flotilla adrift in a sea of stars. Obi-Wan had found a porthole through which he could catch a glimpse of what the rebellion looked like on their approach. It was a motley crew of ships, no uniformity of design or function, most not even military vessels. It was nothing like that of the Republic’s military might nor the Separatists with their vast fleet of warships. The power imbalance between the Empire and Rebels was painfully manifest before Obi-Wan’s eyes. This was a rebellion scrounged together by disparate forces that worked for a common goal, but who lacked uniform resources or training. Just by looking at the fleet he knew they were severely outgunned and out numbered. Yet still they fought; their hope undeniable even out here in the desolate reaches of space.
The Ghost approached the largest of the ships in the fleet, a capital ship designated as Home One. It looked of Calamari design, if Obi-Wan’s memory served him well. As they entered the hangar Obi-Wan went to help Anakin from the medical bay to the cargo hold. Neither of them spoke to the other, so it was an uncomfortably silent affair as Obi-Wan tried to aid him down the ladder only to end up being swatted away. He wanted to shout at him, tell him he had all the faith in the world in him, he just worried like an overly fretful Crèche Master. But Anakin, now free of his grasp, rushed to Ahsoka’s side, balancing himself against some cargo crates and steadfastly ignoring Obi-Wan’s aching presence.
Everyone was now congregated in the cargo hold for landing, anxious to reunite with the Rebellion. Well everyone save Maz Kanata, who just looked tired and disinterested. When Hera touched down the bay doors opened and the ramp extended into a wide hangar. They were immediately greeted with a not so friendly looking squad of rebels with their blasters aimed directly into the belly of the cargo hold.
“Whoa, whoa, what’s this?” Zeb demanded, standing in front of his crew. “We’re all friends here.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Where is the Jedi named Anakin Skywalker?”
Someone pushed their way through the squad of rebels, a woman in a high-collared fitted gown the color of stormy seas that seemed to almost be swirling and cresting across the dress. Her brunette hair was coiled in a braided halo around the crown of her head and juxtaposed to her regal state she cradled in her arms an E-11 blaster rifle, which she trained on Anakin as he stepped around Zeb, “That would be me.”
“Cuff him and take him to the brig,” The woman ordered.
Chaos erupted as the Ghost crew objected to such treatment of Anakin, proving how he could befriend just about anyone despite the exacerbating mess of a human he was.
“This is highly unnecessary, Princess!”
“He’s proven himself to be a friend and powerful ally!”
“Karrabast! You’re making a mistake!"
Even Chopper warbled angrily, stun prods pointed menacingly at the nearest rebel. The guards were unfazed as they marched forward and cuffed Anakin, a little rougher than necessary in his healing state—which had Obi-Wan on the verge of intervening—when the Princess spoke again, “Take his lightsaber. And I’ll hold on to yours for now as well, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
Somehow she knew him from the crowd as her cool brown eyes connected with his. There was something familiar in those eyes. She wielded her power calmly, with a dignified confidence. He felt a spark when he looked at her and realized with a start the woman was incandescent in the Force, yet she did not seem unaware of it, even as her Force signature emanated an aggressive dominance towards his own. He wondered if she even knew she was trying to make him submit to her will? Obi-Wan handed over his lightsaber to the Princess’s outstretched hand, knowing when best to pick his battles and watched somewhat regretfully as Anakin was escorted from the hangar. When she touched the hilt of his blade her brow wrinkled for the briefest of seconds before wiped clean. But he caught on the air of the Force a distinct emotion: sadness, deep and profound.
“Princess I—“
“You may call me Leia, I’m not much one for titles,” She said as she quickly pocketed his counterparts blade in the folds of her gown. “You’re contribution to the Rebellion has not been forgotten, but seeing as you are not exactly our Obi-Wan you can understand our distrust.”
“Thank you, Leia,” Obi-Wan began again, dusting off that crisp and charismatic negotiator’s tone. “And yes, I do understand. But this is all really unnecessary. I can assure you Anakin and I are of no threat to the Rebellion. We endeavor only to bring our help and expertise to your cause. We are on the same side.”
Leia eyed him somewhat distrustfully, then the rest of the Ghost crew behind him.
“That is for us to determine. Your presence is expected in standard hour’s time where you will give the Alliance a full de-briefing. Anakin’s fate will be determined then. Until then, your friends here may show you to the residence deck where I might suggest the use of a refresher?” She made a show of looking him up and down, his garments still soaked in Anakin’s blood. “You could do with some cleaning up.”
He regarded Leia’s back with a slight tilt of his head in thought as she marched determinedly from the hangar. Ahsoka fell in step beside him to watch her retreating form as well, “She’s one of the last few surviving Alderaanians. She’s tough as nails, I kinda like it. Just sorry you two had to get on the wrong end of her blaster, but we’ll sort this all out.”
“I do not doubt that. I cannot help but feel the Force brought us here for a reason.”
“You know she’s Bail Organa’s daughter,” Ahsoka spoke from the corner of her mouth, nudging his shoulder conspiratorially.
“Interesting…” He glanced at Ahsoka in surprise. “I thought Bail’s wife could not bear children, from what I’d heard. Did he know she is Force sensitive?”
Ahsoka’s head whipped around to squint at Obi-Wan, “What?”
“Honestly, you don’t see it Ahsoka?”
She shook her head, lekku swaying with the vigorous movement, clearly surprised at his observation.
“Look closer next time. I suspect she may not even know it, but she wields it rather formidably. She almost had me submitting to her will back there without a single word spoken.”
“Formidable indeed…”
“Mommy!” A little one squealed, bounding into the hangar at light speed, a frazzled scruffy man close on his tail. Obi-Wan watched with a fond smile as the little boy with a shock of green hair wove his way through the busy mechanics and pilots to reach Hera’s side. She scooped him up with ease, spinning him in her arms and showering him with kisses. His watcher caught up to them with a lopsided grin on his face.
“Thank you for looking after my sweet boy, Kallus,” Hera gave his arm a fond squeeze while her son dotingly nuzzled against her headtails. Sabine paused from having started unloading supplies off the ship to make silly faces at the child over Hera’s shoulder. The boy giggled delightedly at her cross-eyed face and called out, “Bean! Bean!”
“It was no problem at all, I assure you, little ones love me,” Kallus boasted.
Obi-Wan detected the lie easily and Hera seemed to guess as much, but she let him maintain his dignity without comment. Until Zeb came crashing on the scene and yanked Kallus into a great big smothering bear hug which he was helpless not to return. It was then that Obi-Wan left them to their sweet familial reunion.
The level where the residences where housed on the ship was well appointed. He was given a small holding room for now, just down the hall from Ahsoka’s. He could feel all the eyes on his back like tractor beams as he walked down the worn white corridor to the refreshers, but whenever he turned to look all passerby’s averted their gaze rather conspicuously. He shrugged and continued on, used to being the center of attention as one of the sole Jedi wherever the mission of the moment brought him long before now. But even so, he couldn’t help the longing he felt for Anakin’s buffering presence at his side. He usually drew most of the eyes, providing Obi-Wan cover and the chance to study their new environment unnoticed.
Once cleaned, his clothes freshly laundered as well, he dressed and returned to his private compartment to gather his thoughts before he would be called upon by the Alliance.
Anakin, he reached out across the bond, expecting to touch upon a stormy mind and instead finding him in the midst of meditation. I will fix this, he assured the ,an. It was as if Anakin were seated cross-legged in his room before him when his one visible eye opened and made contact. There was a startlingly lack of emotion behind it, like looking in a mirror to his most aloof and reserved days during Anakin’s training.
“How are you supposed to convince them to trust me when you can’t afford me the same courtesy? I can handle myself. I certainly don’t need anyone’s help, least of all yours.”
“Please don’t be this way,” Obi-Wan begged.
Why must he always be so stubborn? Anakin leveled him an unamused stare, knowing exactly what he thought with displeasure.
“Maybe I wouldn’t be this way if you treated me like the man I am and not the youngling you still believe me to be.”
Anakin’s presence vanished from the room and Obi-Wan felt achingly alone. He fell to the bed cut into the bulkhead and thrust both hands through his mussed up hair, a deep sense of misery pervading his every thought. It never got easier.
The hour ended far sooner than he wished and Obi-Wan found himself being escorted by two young rebels and Ahsoka to the command bridge. Once on the bridge Ahsoka immediately left his side to search for someone. Obi-Wan was surprised to find how many people were present for this little debriefing. They were quite the democratic group by the looks of it as everyone seemed invited no matter their status. The higher ranking officials were scattered around a large holodisplay in the center of the room while the benches circling it were filled with commanding officers in the front and those of their unit filling in behind them. There were humans and aliens alike and one shockingly recognizable droid.
“Master Kenobi!” The gold-plated protocol droid called out. “Oh, it is you!”
Obi-Wan smiled awkwardly at the droid. He’d never really gotten along with the thing, but it was more soothing than he expected to see something so familiar from his timeline here among strangers. That was until C-3PO excitedly plowed into him, kneeing him dangerously close to the groin then turning with a wide swinging arm almost smacking him in the face in excitement before Obi-Wan jumped backwards and gripped both the droids shoulders to halt any further misfortunes.
“Easy there…"
“It is splendidly good to see you, sir. Artoo will be most excited to know Master Kenobi is back when he returns! He’ll never believe me, then again no one likes to believe I know anything around here. But dear me, you look dreadfully tired and run down if I do say so—“
“Oh enough, Threepio!” Leia cut in, silencing the babbling droid and shaking her head, glancing up at the ceiling in mock prayer. “Has he always been this insufferably chatty? Or is our universe just that lucky?”
“Well I say,” C-3PO fell back, affronted.
Obi-Wan grinned, gladly taking the chance to bond with the intriguing Princess over the droid’s personality quirks.
“Oh you truly don’t know the half of it. Anakin has always had a habit of crafting droids with rather…” He searched for the most diplomatic of words. “vexing personality traits. I try my best to keep a distance from all that.”
Leia’s eyes sparkled mirthfully before she straightened her shoulders and turned to the holodisplay, conferring with a woman near it with short cropped hair, also in a simple flowing gown of creamy white. C-3PO made another startled sound. He turned in time to see the droid waddling to a halt before Anakin, who’d just been escorted into the bridge. He was still maddeningly cuffed, not that it would do any good if Anakin wanted to get out of them. Someone had taken pity on the man though and cleaned him up a bit, as he was no longer caked in blood and dirt, bactapatch removed and wound cleaned. He could feel Anakin’s pleasure at finding one of his droids here, with the rebellion. Even if his counterpart had fallen to the dark side he still managed to leave a legacy to help those in need. Obi-Wan felt a swell of pride which got Anakin’s eyes to connect with his for a split second before he looked away.
There was still one more reunion to be had before the debriefing got underway. Ahsoka strode across the room to Anakin’s side leading an older man with a thick white beard and shaved head. He was instantly recognizable to Obi-Wan despite the years of age added to his weathered face. For it was the same face as Cody’s. He felt Anakin’s shock on the Force and watched closely as he took in his clone Captain.
“General…” Rex spoke gruffly, but the hesitant joy at seeing his former Jedi general was undeniable on his weathered face. His hands didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves at his side.
“Rex! Oh man is it good to see a friendly face like yours.”
Ahsoka remained off to the side observing them with sharp eyes. Rex laughed and there might have been some tears in his eyes as Anakin squeezed his shoulder. Rex eyed the cuffs apprehensively, then threw caution to the wind and pulled Anakin in to a tight hug, his arms awkwardly trapped between them.
“Damn you got old,” Anakin exclaimed when they pulled apart.
“That tends to happen, Sir,” Rex quipped with a dry smile.
Obi-Wan wrapped himself in Anakin’s—their—warm glowing Force signature. Even if Anakin was still mad at him he couldn’t hold that back, for they were one now. Someone cleared their throat and Obi-Wan turned to the holodisplay. It was the woman beside Leia.
“Welcome, Jedi. I am Mon Mothma, Chancellor of the Rebel Alliance. This is quite an unprecedented situation for us all, so please forgive us if this seems a little overzealous on our part, but we cannot afford to operate with anything but extreme caution these days.”
After a stream of introductions Obi-Wan was invited to speak about how they came to arrive in this timeline. He did his best to explain, telling them how they’d been diverted on a mission by the Jedi Council to investigate a disturbance in the Force near Moraband. He stared directly at Anakin as he wove a tale that left out the exact details of their time travel, instead obfuscating the origins of it with platitudes about the mysteries of the Force. He did not feel it would help their case to share Vader had pulled them to this universe and surprisingly Anakin seemed to be in agreement with him on that one. Eventually Ahsoka and Hera took turns filling in the gaps of his story, how they linked up with Anakin, discovered Obi-Wan’s detention on the Executor and brought about its destruction while freeing him. It was quite an exciting tale once all laid out. The rebels present seemed equally impressed. But then things shifted as the attention turned to hone in on Anakin, all eyes finding their way to the Jedi Knight.
“Anakin Skywalker, do you know what became of you, here, in this timeline?” Leia stared down the Jedi unwaveringly.
“Unfortunately, I do,” Anakin bowed his head in the appropriate display of shame. It was well acted, Obi-Wan had to give him credit.
“Then answer me this, how are we supposed to trust you when you became one of our most dreaded enemies? Darth Vader has inflicted more damage to this rebellion and the citizens of the Galaxy than anyone else, save for the Emperor.”
Anakin was silent for a minute, to the point those in the benches around them squirmed restlessly before he finally answered.
“It’s simple. Because I am not him. And now, due to the intervention of time travel I have had the chance to see the path laid out before me and act to change it.”
Leia regarded him suspiciously, “And how are we to be sure? From what I have gathered of the Force through Luke the dark side is insidious. A constant threat. We cannot afford the risk of two Vader’s. The stakes are too high.”
“Might I interject?” Obi-Wan inquired feeling Anakin’s rising displeasure and wanting to intercede before he damaged the progress he’d made. Leia nodded in his direction, lips pursed.
“Yes, the dark side is an ever-constant danger. But the Force is neither good nor evil, it just is, even when so unbalanced as it is now. It can be hard to explain its power and our interaction with it to those who have never experienced a strong connection with it, but we are all here for the same reason,” He looked around at the audience gathered before them “We have hope. Hope things can be better. The Force is that hope. It can be corrupted. Used for the wrong reasons. Test us in the worst ways imaginable… But it can also uplift us. Heal. Transcend divisions. Anakin is no more likely to fall to the dark side, commit unspeakable acts, than the rest of us. Everyone has the capacity for hate to rule their hearts just as much as love. We owe it to everyone in this fight to show them second chances are real. Anakin deserves it as much as we need his strength and dedication to the cause.”
As he wrapped up his speech most everyone in the room seemed moved by his appeal, silent and gaping at Obi-Wan. He could feel Anakin’s eyes on him, could feel his anger towards him abate—just a little—as affection swelled and warred with his stubborn will.
“You are right, Master Jedi,” Mon Mothma acceded, “We are not the Empire, we offer second chances here. We have many an Imperial defector in our ranks who’ve aided our cause immensely and so, it is with a humble heart I gladly welcome Knight Skywalker to the fight."
“Yes that’s good and all, but what of you?” Leia rounded the holodisplay to stand before Obi-Wan, staring him down like the barrel of a blaster. “Lord Vader had you detained aboard his ship for over a week. The last time he saw you he struck you down where you stood, I witnessed it. Yet this time he keeps you alive and whole? What are we supposed to make of that?”
Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s rumblings of anger on the bond. Like the twist of a knife in his gut he could feel how much Anakin disliked the mistrust suddenly thrust on Obi-Wan as much as he loathed the reminder of his captivity at the hands of Darth Vader.
“A part of Anakin may yet still exist inside of Vader,” The audience grumbled discontentedly around him, but Leia was unfazed by his proclamation. He pushed on. “I know that may be hard for some to believe, but the dark side is not known for granting free will to its adherents. I believe somewhere, buried quite deep, is a small piece of the apprentice I—er your Obi-Wan once knew. While I cannot speak to his ultimate reasons for my captivity I do believe that part of him could not bear to strike me down again. And because of that small mercy I am able to stand here today, before you with knowledge of where the Imperial fleet has amassed.”
A Mon Calamari exclaimed from beside Mon Mothma, “How do you know this?”
“I unwittingly overheard a transmission between Emperor Palpatine and Lord Vader. Their fleet is gathering somewhere in the Endor system. Palpatine himself is there, concocting some insidious plan I have no doubt. He wished to use me as bait for Skywalker. Now I am not so sure he meant just Anakin or…”
The crowd gasped and murmured, a few cried for vengeance against the Emperor. As the leaders talked amongst themselves Leia leaned in to speak softly, an apologetic set to her mouth, “You know Luke said the same thing to me, that he believed despite the darkness of his father’s heart there is good in him somewhere. But he is rather prone to a naive idealism…”
Obi-Wan’s heart plummeted into his stomach. Behind him Anakin released a sharp groan. He sensed his legs giving out under the weight of Leia’s inadvertent revelation and Obi-Wan spun around to catch the man before he fell. He sagged into Obi-Wan, head nuzzling into his chest absentmindedly for comfort. Obi-Wan’s heart stalled at such an open display of affection and he hesitated before threading his hands through Anakin’s soft curls, holding him against his chest. Leia regarded Anakin in Obi-Wan’s arms and it was impossible to pin down exactly what emotion she was feeling, her mind a steel trap. But she quickly dismissed it and resumed her interrogative like questioning.
“You did not know?”
Anakin’s mind was racing, shooting across the stars, through countless dreams of family and a life outside the Jedi. Obi-Wan released Anakin and closed off his mind, unable to bear it. Thankfully the Alliance had shifted its focus to the intel of the Imperial presence in Endor to notice their discussion.
“Where is he?” Anakin, now sturdy on his own two feet and pushing away from Obi-Wan, managed to grit out.
“If you think I’m going to share that with you, you’ve got another thing coming laser boy,” Leia prodded the man in his chest.
“Please!”
Obi-Wan gave Leia a beseeching look from behind Anakin. This was no time to play games. And yet they needed to tread carefully, Obi-Wan was not expecting this news and was gravely worried what it could do for the tenuous balance Anakin had achieved. But he knew one thing, he would not dare stand in the way of him meeting his own… son.
“He’s on the planet Dagobah. Our Obi-Wan had sent him there to receive training from some old Grandmaster in exile. He only recently returned to him to complete his training as a Jedi.”
Another bombshell dropped. Obi-Wan lurched towards Leia in shock and she swayed backwards in response. “Grandmaster Yoda is alive?”
“Yeah, not really a name you forget…”
“We must go to them at once.”
Obi-Wan felt Anakin’s tension released from his body all at once, assuaged by the knowledge they were on the same page—albeit for slightly different reasons, Obi-Wan gathered. Leia looked back to the council, now in full swing debating how best to approach the system without alerting the Imperial fleet to their presence. She turned back to them with a look of steely determination and Obi-Wan reminded himself to always stay in her good graces.
“Alright, let’s move,” She swept forward to undo Anakin’s cuffs, but paused at the last second before she unlocked them, ensnaring Anakin’s eyes in her own. “I am only doing this because we desperately need Luke back in this fight. Do not think for a second I won’t throw you right back in a detention cell upon our return if you so much as breath funny, you got that?”
“Yes, your majesty,” Anakin saluted mockingly with his newly freed hand.
“Go, I’ll meet you in the hangar after we finish up here, Threepio can give you the coordinates to prep,” she dismissed them and turned back to the holodisplay, joining the spirited discussion of utilizing a Bothan spy network to asses the threat in the Endor system.
Hera caught up to them in the hangar bay and graciously lended the Ghost to Obi-Wan and Anakin.
“She’s fast, reliable, and invisible to most imperial sensors. Please, take her.”
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan took her hands in his. He understood this was her way of showing trust that the rest of the rebellion held back. He was glad to have her in their corner.
Once Leia joined them, sweeping into the hangar changed into an economical pair of taupe trousers with black boots and a dusty grey camouflage poncho, she returned their lightsabers. Then they gathered on the Ghost and departed, shooting into open space for Dagobah. There was an uncomfortable stillness to the cockpit. Leia silently observed Anakin while he entered the coordinates for the hyperjump. They’d have to take a somewhat circuitous route so as not to leave a trail directly back to the rebellion. That meant they’d be forced to spend some time together over the next five hours until they reached Dagobah. Obi-Wan did a silent prayer for mercy, hoping the air would not stay so chilly between Anakin and Leia nor him and Anakin.
And yet by the second hour no one had dared to speak, still. Obi-Wan had long entered a meditative trance-like state, mainly to avoid the tension in the cockpit, but also to gather some rest as it had been an exceedingly long day. Anakin tinkered with the Ghost’s control board, which Obi-Wan had the distinct impression that Hera would be none too pleased to learn when they returned. Leia had since removed herself from the cockpit and was somewhere in the galley making herself food. The smell filtered into the cockpit and set Obi-Wan’s stomach grumbling.
Eventually Anakin’s loud huffs of breath, clanking against the control panel, and obnoxious prods on the Force were enough to bate Obi-Wan out of his meditation. Slowly he turned his head to stare at Anakin, single brow raised in question as he stared down the man making a racket. Anakin just snorted derisively and returned to banging his mechanical hand against the panel he’d peeled back earlier to rewire something that was beyond Obi-Wan’s understanding.
“Is something the matter?” Obi-Wan finally asked, knowing he would have to be the adult here.
“HA,” Anakin’s laugh might more easily be classified as a physical assault against Obi-Wan, but he let it pass, clinging to the barest amount of serenity he’d managed to scrounge up in his meditation.
“Please, don’t hold back, you know I already know what’s firing through that mind of yours.”
Anakin’s shoulders pinched back, the one ear his hair had been tucked behind tinged a slight pink.
“Fine, if you already know everything then why don’t you tell me what’s wrong.”
“You know when you get like this it makes me—“
“What? Wish you’d never taken me as a Padawan? That you’d never kissed me? Let me take you to bed? Please do enlighten me, Master,” Anakin demanded snidely, his anger rising to meet Obi-Wan’s annoyance. It was abundantly clear he was on his last thread of patience. The bond pulled taut between them at the charged tug-of-war between their minds and it threatened to make Obi-Wan lightheaded.
“You clearly wish to get a rise out of me, but I have never said and never will say such things,” Obi-Wan spoke resolutely, trying to catch Anakin’s eyes and failing.
He could practically feel his words entering one ear and shooting right out the other, purposefully unabsorbed. Gods, why did Anakin have to be the one that he broke all the rules for? If only the Masters could see him now how they’d look on him with pity, maybe even disgust. It was then what felt like a cold cloth constricted around his heart as he realized he would be seeing the most important Master on the Council in very short order. He couldn’t help the feeling of dread it instilled, which he was not proud to admit and did his best to keep shielded from Anakin.
“So you’ll sleep with me, but you won’t share your trust with me?”
“Anakin, I have nothing but trust for you,” Obi-Wan sighed exasperatedly. “Have I not proven that time and again? Perhaps what’s really going on here is you’re nervous about meeting your son?”
That was it, granted Anakin was still clearly angry with him over the supposed breach of trust, but when he spoke the word ‘son’ Anakin leeched such a suffocating amount of anxiety onto the bond it was impossible to ignore.
“Don’t turn this around on me!” Anakin barked as the ship decelerated out of hyperspace, entering the last of the systems they’d need to bounce through before reaching the Dagobah system. “We’re talking about us. About you’re infuriating lack of faith in me.”
A warning sensor lit up on the dash, but Obi-Wan was too preoccupied with Anakin to notice it and Anakin was vigorously focused on the argument at hand. He was pouting now and kriffing hell, how could such a frustrating pout be so paralyzingly attractive?
“I have all the faith in the world in you—“
“You sure have a funny way of showing it!”
“Uhh, excuse me?”
Neither men paid any attention to Leia’s sudden reemergence into the cockpit as they heatedly devolved into an all out spat.
“I’m sorry, Anakin, if it ever seemed to you as if I lacked faith in you,” A beeping now joined in with the blinking light on the dash. “I believe in you wholly and completely, but old habits die hard and I am trying! You demand too much too soon.”
“And you give too little too late!”
“BOYS! If we could set the male fragility aside for the moment, we have more pressing matters to attend,” Leia’s voice cut over the squabbling men like she had practice using her voice to demand attention. Both Obi-Wan and Anakin ceased talking immediately and turned to look at her. She rolled her eyes and pointed out the transparisteel ahead of them.
“Sithspit!” Anakin immediately jumped into action, finger’s flying across the control panel flipping switches and inputing codes.
“What is that?” Obi-Wan asked, wide-eyed.
It was a freighter like none he’d seen before, elongated with mining equipment and drills built along the massive hull around which he could feel the Force amplified like light through a glass prism. Whatever they were transporting it seemed to almost sing like a kyber crystal, but it was way too large. And worst of all it was being escorted by two Imperial assault ships and a buzzing hive of TIE interceptors.
“Kark it, it’s too late to hide our presence from their sensors,” Anakin bit out, frustratedly pounding a fist against the dash.
“Well there’s no reason for them to suspect anything. Just… fly casually!” Obi-Wan offered unhelpfully.
“Oh yes, I forgot about the fly casual setting, let me just hit that right here.”
Leia choked back a laugh behind them. A cluster of five TIE’s broke away from the freighter to head towards them as a voice crackled over the com system.
“Identify yourself and state your business. The Ilum sector is restricted access.”
The voice was crisp and no nonsense, typical Imperial sounding. Obi-Wan glanced at Anakin as he gripped the wheel of ship. “Everyone buckle in, it’s about to get bumpy.”
“Oh good, cause this wasn’t fun enough to begin with,” Leia added dryly, strapping herself in behind Obi-Wan.
Just as he got his last buckle fastened Anakin launched into a spectacular set of evasive maneuvers as he wove through the approaching TIE’s. Obi-Wan tried to blanket himself in Anakin’s blazing confidence, but there was something about flying in a dogfight that just never got easier, even now as he found himself linked by the Force to one of the best pilots the galaxy has ever seen.
“Your silence is your death warrant!” The Imperial Officer spoke over the coms and Anakin shut them off with a slap, “Enough of that.” Then he resumed his piloting, face grimly focused as he raced ever closer to the mining freighter. More TIE’s spilled out of the assault ships as thick blast of green laser bolts shot through the black of space. Obi-Wan gripped the arm rests of his seat stiffly until his knuckles turned white.
“Anakin… Anakin, you’re getting too close!”
The massive freighter grew larger until it just above blocked the entire viewport of the Ghost. At the last possible second Anakin dipped the Ghost forward and it plummeted down the side of the freighter and shot back up under it, using it to put an obstacle between them and the TIE’s now firing at will. He wove expertly through the many cranes and colossal laser-drills littering the hull of the mining vessel.
“Tell me you have a plan,” Leia shouted as the ship was rocked with strafing fire.
“I’ve always got a plan.”
“Yes, he’s always got a plan,” Obi-Wan attempted to look back at the Princess, “It’s called improvisation.”
“See, lack of faith, Master.”
Anakin toggled some switches before slamming the throttle forward. The Ghost’s engines whirred loudly as it shot out past the freighter and over the nearest assault vessel. Their anti-aircraft cannons couldn’t get a lock due to our speed and proximity.
“Obi-Wan put in the coordinates for Dagobah, I’m going to sling shot us around that moon to lose our tails. We’ve got to time this perfectly.”
Obi-Wan dove into action, doing as asked without hesitation. He would show Anakin just how much faith he had, pushing out on the bond with his blind belief in the man. “Leia, remind me the vector of Dagobah’s system?”
She called out the alpha-numerics as Obi-Wan hurriedly entered them into the hyperdrive system. The Ghost rocked again as more lasers strafed the ship. Lights lit up across the control panel and the ship canted port precipitously as Anakin suddenly yanked on the steering wheel, bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Obi-Wan felt a stab of pain like his own lip had cut open.
“C’mon, c’mon…” Anakin coaxed the ship as they shot ever closer to the pockmarked moon. “When I say punch it you karking hit it, you got it Obi-Wan?”
“I’m with you.”
“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Leia quipped from behind.
“Hold your breath, this isn’t going to feel the best.”
The moon aggressively cannibalized the entire transparisteel of the cockpit as Anakin gave the engines everything they had. The ship shuddered as the moon’s gravity locked its hold on the ship and tugged them in. The TIE’s behind them were still in hot pursuit, but struggled against the gravity with their smaller engines. Then Anakin turned into the moon and the slingshot began. It felt like all of Obi-Wan’s internal organs suddenly shifted in his body, flinging to the right side as his head collided with the headrest. Somewhere behind them Leia let out a muffled groan. Everything turned a searing bright white as they gained heat in the limited atmosphere of the moon they shot around at blinding speed. He couldn’t see anything and didn’t know how Anakin could at all, when finally he shouted, “Now!” The blinding light dispersed and they were skidding out into open space again as Obi-Wan thrust his palm forward, hitting the hyperdrive lever. The stars stretched before their eyes before they entered hyperspace with a pop.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief in unison, but the tension returned almost immediately as Anakin swore and quirky unbuckled, rushing out of the cockpit. Obi-Wan followed him with his eyes before meeting Leia’s shrewd gaze which tracked up from his neck. She gave him a critical stare as he adjusted his collar.
Soon Anakin came plowing back into the cockpit, throwing himself in the seat and grabbing the controls.
“Okay everyone, the engines will hold for now, but the landing might be a little rough.”
“Please don’t tell me we’re about to crash Hera’s ship?”
Anakin shot Obi-Wan a grimace before they exited hyperspace and Dagobah loomed close overhead, a dark green and cloud covered planet that exuded a purifying Force energy. The Ghost plunged, breaking atmo and hurtling at dizzying speed towards the thick moss covered trees shrouded in mist. Obi-Wan braced himself as Anakin pulled up hard and the ship smashed across the tops of the trees, jarring with the impact of one tree limb after another before they were skimming across an open bog.
“Anakin—“
“I see it.”
They were approaching a cliff’s edge. At the last possible second Anakin yanked on the steering mechanism and they twisted a sharp right, barely grazing along the edge of the cliff drop before smashing into the thick muddy earth of the swamp. The ship settled with a groan, engines hissing as they belched steam.
“Another happy landing…” Obi-Wan cracked a grin and swiped his hair back that had fallen in his eyes, looking around the cockpit.
“Are we sinking?” Leia inquired as she slipped off her restraints and stared at the mud climbing up around the transparisteel.
“Kark me…” Anakin groaned and they all rushed out of the ship, sinking into the swampy earth up to their knees.
Obi-Wan gathered the Force and lifted Leia, guiding her to the bank of the swamp to settle carefully on solid ground among gnarled roots and moss drenched tree limbs. Then Obi-Wan and Anakin lunged, making the far leap themselves. Together they turned and faced the sinking ship. Obi-Wan latched on to Anakin through the bond, feeling the natural swell of the Force around him and using it to amplify his own as he focused on the Ghost. Anakin joined him and they worked side-by-side with outstretched hands to try and pry the ship free of the sticky earth’s grasp. The swamp did not wish to relinquish its meal to the Jedi, holding steadfast to the ship. The hull groaned with the dueling weight of their Force and the viscous swamp. Then, suddenly, it was light as a feather and moving outwards, up and up until it hovered at the height of the treetops around the swamp. It rotated, heaps of mud pouring from its bottom. Carefully it was guided to a small clearing of lichen covered rocks where it settled with a pitiful whine. Revealed beside it at the edge of the embankment were two figures. One a human male. The other a diminutive figure with pointed ears.
“Luke!” Leia cried out.
Carefully they made their way to the ship. Luke looked to be just about a head taller than Leia with dirty blonde hair the color of Tatooine sands. He pulled Leia into a tight embrace.
“What are you doing here?” He asked in shock.
Beside him was none other than Grandmaster Yoda. His big wide eyes knowing and melancholic as he observed the reunion. He hobbled forward on a gnarled wood cane, slipping past Luke’s legs to scrutinize the newcomers.
“And who are they?” Luke asked Leia, looking around her at Obi-Wan and Anakin curiously.
Obi-Wan could feel the tension in Anakin’s body as he stood stalk straight, nerves rocketing through his system. They both watched as if in a trance, Obi-Wan unbelieving that he was standing before the revered Yoda, still very much alive—who had always seemed old, but now looked practically ancient—while Anakin clearly couldn’t take his eyes off his son. The Force was stained with his self-doubt and worry as it mixed with Obi-Wan’s. He attempted to offer support, filling him up with encouragement and warmth, but Anakin hurtfully detached from him, stepping away and towards his son.
“Embrace the Force, young Luke, lie to you it does not,” Yoda’s voice croaked, coming to a standstill before the two Jedi now and staring up at them. His eyes were penetrative like he could see everything they’d been through. Obi-Wan was unable to ascertain if that was judgment in his eyes or something else.
“Wait… impossible, Obi-Wan?” Luke asked incredulously. Leia nodded solemnly beside him. “But you’re so young. And who…?” Luke looked questioningly at Anakin, sizing the mysterious figure up.
“Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, he is…” Yoda turned back to gaze at a stunned Luke and then at Leia, ears twitching downward. What he spoke next was another shocker for them all. “Father to you… and to young Leia. Twins Padmé had.”
|
~*~*~*~*~*
april
Dean’s fingers bounce on the steering wheel, tapping out the rhythm of the song. He hums a few bars before singing out the chorus.
“Man, I ain’t getting nowhere!”
he sings, before bellowing
“I’m just living in a dump like this!”
He nods his head to the beat of the tune before belting,
“This gun’s for hire! Even if we’re just dancing in the dark!”
He forces himself to stop singing when he pulls onto Castiel’s street. If Luke caught him belting out Bruce Springsteen lyrics, he would probably make fun of Dean for not singing the ending of
Don Giovanni
(What? He’s cultured). Snooty prick.
Mingled relief and disappointment twists in Dean’s chest as he pulls into the empty driveway. While he’s not sad about missing Luke, he can’t deny the small dip in his mood when he gets out of the car. Castiel knew he was coming today, and Dean had thought (hoped) that he would be waiting for him to arrive.
Stupid. Dean clenches his fists and slings his duffel bag out of the trunk. He and Castiel might be friends, but Castiel has a life. Has a
boyfriend.
And he can’t just drop everything in his life to be there for Dean. No matter how much Dean might want him to.
He’s only made it a few steps towards the carriage house when he hears a car pulling up. Dean’s shoulders pull up tight around his ears as he turns around. He dreads seeing Luke’s Mercedes, but his heart lifts when it’s Castiel’s gold Continental coming up the driveway instead. Behind the windshield, he can just make out Castiel’s grinning face.
The Continental’s engine has barely come to a stop before Castiel is bounding out. “Hello, Dean,” he greets, the formal tone at odds with the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Hi, Cas,” Dean says. His fingers wrap around the strap of his bag, and he shuffles his feet against the asphalt. He wants nothing more than to walk over to Cas and wrap him in a hug, but his feet are frozen. How do you greet someone who’s a friend, but more than a friend, when they’re not allowed to be anything more than casual acquaintances?
“You must have driven fast,” Castiel comments. “I thought I would be here waiting for you.”
“I just got in,” Dean answers, gesturing towards his bag.
“I can see that.” Castiel nods, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the ground. Whatever awkwardness is infecting Dean, Castiel seems to have caught it too. He stays close to the Continental, almost like it’s a shield. “Did you have a good drive?”
“I mean, you know. It was a drive through Kansas. So, pretty boring, all things considered.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
He and Castiel stare at each other. It’s like they’re meeting each other for the first time. All of their previous conversations have vanished, leaving Dean tongue-tied.
He breaks their strange tension with a laugh, shaking his head as he looks at Castiel. “This is really fucking weird.”
Castiel’s mouth flattens for just a second before he laughs. “I’m glad you said it.” He rubs at his chin with his fingers. “I don’t know why, but it’s… different,” he settles on saying.
Dean can guess why it’s different, at least on his end. When he’s texting with Castiel, he doesn’t have those intense blue eyes staring him down every second.
Has anyone ever told him he has a staring problem?
Dean wonders, but he doesn’t ask. As strange as it is to be stared at, he’s not sure he minds. There’s something intoxicating about having Castiel look at him like he’s the only person in the world that matters.
A tiny squirm of guilt attacks him. He shouldn’t be enjoying Castiel’s attention as much as he is. He shouldn’t have a claim on his time, he shouldn’t be talking to him well past midnight, he shouldn’t breathe a sigh of relief whenever Castiel says Luke is out of town.
“Well, I was about thirty seconds away from discussing the weather with you,” Castiel says. “It would have been in-depth too. I had the entire seven-day forecast to fall back on.”
“Would you have pulled up the radar as well?”
Castiel lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not averse to using props when I have to.”
“Kinky,” Dean says, without thinking. A second after the word escapes his mouth, he sputters. “I mean… You know. Just.”
“If that’s what you consider kinky, I’m afraid you’ve been sheltered.” A wicked light gleams in Castiel’s eyes when he looks at Dean. “And after all the stories of your exploits, too.”
“You’re… you’re a dick,” Dean blusters, cursing the heat he feels creeping over his cheeks.
“I think that’s been well established.”
Dean grins. With every second he talks to Castiel, he feels the awkward tension fading away. His feet itch to walk closer, and now he feels like he might get away with putting a friendly arm around Castiel’s shoulders.
At least, he feels that way until he sees Luke’s car nosing its way into the driveway. Dean’s stomach plummets, and all of his courage vanishes as though it had never been. Dean has to fight to keep from taking a deliberate step backwards. He has every right to stand in Castiel’s driveway and talk to him. They’re just having a friendly conversation.
When he sees Luke’s smile, Dean is uncomfortably reminded that most animals bare their teeth as a threat. Luke’s eyes are hard as he looks at Dean, his blue stare so unlike Castiel’s. “Dean,” he says, turning the single syllable into a curse, “how nice to see you again. Castiel,” he continues, turning to the other man, “did you forget to mention that we would have a guest?”
“I wasn’t aware I needed to inform you.” Castiel’s face seems to be set into a rictus grin. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “After all, you hardly ever take an interest in the carriage house.”
“Yes, but I would like to know who’s staying on our property.”
“My
property,” Castiel corrects, something soft and deadly in his voice. It’s poison wrapped in velvet, and Dean spares a moment to fervently hope that Castiel never speaks to him in that tone. His insides might just liquify.
Luke steps back like Castiel’s slapped him. He stares at Castiel for a moment, the muscle at the corner of his jaw twitching. His gaze shifts to Dean. This time, Dean does actually take a step backward. Luke’s gaze is poisonous, and the hatred behind it makes Dean’s skin crawl.
He storms into the house without another word, slamming the door behind him. Castiel looks after him and sighs. Regret is in his eyes when he turns back towards Dean. “I have…” He gestures helplessly at the house. “I should…”
“Yeah,” Dean says, his tongue wooden and heavy. “I mean. Of course. Yeah.”
Don’t go,
he doesn’t say.
Leave him. Stay with me.
Dean doesn’t say any of those. He just stands with his bag still on his shoulder and watches after Castiel as he disappears into the house, the door closing behind him and swallowing him whole.
---
Dean spends a fitful evening in the carriage house. He puts on some show on Netflix and doesn’t bother to pay attention to it. The Chinese food he gets tastes like ashes and grease, and he stops eating halfway through, unable to force any more down his throat. On his phone, the laugh track of the sitcom he’s watching grates against his ears.
Dean finds himself tapping out the beat to Ramble On against his knee, like a child counting the spaces between the lightning and the thunder. It’s a promise of safety, a consolation he never got, and when he hears something slam, he’s not entirely surprised. It just feels like the noise in his skull escaped to the rest of the world. But when he catches the hint of raised voices, Dean perks up.
He’s not a nosy person. He’s
not.
Okay, sometimes he doesn’t bother turning away when people are talking about their shit in front of him, and if Charlie has some delicious information, he’s not going to tell her
not
to tell him, but he’s not the kind of person who creeps around and eavesdrops on people’s conversations.
But if someone’s going to have a screaming match thirty yards away from him, and keep the windows open while they’re doing it… Well, is Dean a terrible person for listening?
Yes,
the voice in the back of his head says, unequivocal, hard, mean, but it doesn’t stop Dean from creeping closer to the window in the living room. He twitches aside the curtain. From his vantage point, he can see the backyard of Castiel’s house, including a viewpoint into his kitchen. Two figures are clearly visible, each standing on an opposite side of the room.
Luke looks like a caged panther. He’s pacing back and forth, anger clear from the hard line of his shoulders. Dean squints and makes out clenched fists at his side. In contrast, Castiel looks like a statue. He remains motionless, his hands loose at his side.
As Dean watches, Luke stops pacing. He faces Castiel and shouts. The distance and windows distort his voice, but Dean catches snippets of the words. “...nothing without me! I
made you!”
Even though he’s motionless, Castiel’s fury radiates through the windows. One finger stabs towards the door in a single, vicious movement.
Luke makes an odd motion, like he’s trying simultaneously to flinch backward and lunge forward. Dean’s fingernails dig into the soft wood of the window frame. He doesn’t want to admit that he was eavesdropping, but like hell is he going to watch Luke take a swing at Castiel without doing anything.
Without thinking about it, Dean finds himself racing down the steps of the carriage house and out into the driveway. The cool night air nips at the tips of his nose and ears, but Dean isn’t concentrating on that. All he can hear are the muffled sounds of argument from inside the house.
He pauses just outside the reach of the porchlight. What is he supposed to do, knock on the door? What will he tell Cas? He’ll have to admit that he was eavesdropping, which sounds humiliating enough to make him want to crawl back into the carriage house and never emerge.
But if Cas is in trouble, he can’t stay here.
The decision is taken out of his hands when the kitchen door bursts open. It’s shoved so hard that it slams against the exterior wall of the house, flying back in Luke’s face. He storms out of the house, his handsome features twisted in anger. Ugly red splotches cover his fair cheeks, and his eyes spit fury.
Castiel follows Luke to the door. Both of them freeze when they see Dean.
“Oh,
wonderful,”
Luke snarls. Malice drips off every word, and, surprised, Dean takes half a step back. “It’s the new stud.”
Feeling like he’s been slapped in the face, Dean blinks. His knee-jerk reaction is rage, but he doesn’t rise to the debate. At the end of the day, Luke is nothing more than a petty boy denied his own way. He ignores Luke and looks to Cas.
“I heard noises,” he offers, looking at Castiel.
Do you need help?
he tries to ask with nothing more than the rise of his eyebrows. “Came down to see what the problem was.You okay?”
Cas’ expression softens from the cold lines of rage when his eyes meet Dean’s. “Yes, thank you. I’m fine.”
Dean takes a step back. If Cas says that he’s fine, he’ll trust him. Cas has shown him, more than once, that he’s perfectly capable of handling his own problems.
“Luke,” Cas says, his voice magnificently dismissive, “you can go. Get out of my house.”
Luke bares his teeth in a vicious sneer. “Have your little temper tantrum, Castiel, if that makes you feel better. I’ll come back tomorrow, and we’ll have a talk about this.”
Cas’ nostrils flare. If looks could kill, Luke would be eviscerated. “Get. Out.” The bites are bitten out through clenched teeth, like Castiel is imagining flesh between his jaws. His knuckles tighten against the porch railing, and Dean entertains himself with visions of those knuckles slamming into Luke’s face. Cas doesn’t move, however, and Dean has to satisfy himself with the images alone.
Luke stalks forward, holding his keys like a threat. The Mercedes beeps aggressively, its headlights flashing. “Get out of my way,” Luke snarls. He doesn’t wait for Dean to move, and his shoulder slams into Dean’s. The force of the contact knocks him back half a step.
Before Dean can react, Luke has thrown himself into his car. The Mercedes reverses out of the driveway with a loud squeal of tires. The acrid smell of burning rubber stings Dean’s nose as he watches the car fishtail wildly in the street before Luke yanks at the steering wheel. With a scream of spinning tires, Luke speeds down the street. Within a few seconds, his taillights disappear.
With Luke gone, Castiel seems released from his stationary state. He grips the porch railing with both hands. His head drops down, and his shoulders shake with barely repressed emotions.
“Fuck,” Dean breathes, quiet enough so that Castiel can’t hear him. He should go. This is a private moment, and watching this feels as invasive as if he’d watched Castiel undress. He really should go.
“Shit!” Dean curses as he watches Castiel pound his fist into the porch. Coming from Castiel, the sudden violence of the gesture is almost obscene.
Dean stands frozen with indecision. He can’t bear the thought of leaving Castiel by himself, but he also can’t stand here and watch Castiel have a breakdown. No decision is right, but he has to
make
a decision, or else risk being stuck in this eternal limbo.
Castiel looks up and meets his eyes. Just like that, all of Dean’s thoughts about leaving vanish from his head, never to be seen again.
Dean’s not sure which of them moves first, but the end result is the same. Somehow, they end up colliding somewhere in the middle of the driveway, with Castiel’s arms wrapped tightly around Dean’s shoulders.
If he had bothered to think about it (he hasn’t,
he hasn’t),
Dean would have assumed that Castiel wasn’t much of a hugger. Something about him screams that he is a person who doesn’t enjoy being touched, who demands a certain amount of personal space. If Dean had thought that, however, he would have been proven wrong.
Castiel hugs like his life depends on it, squeezing Dean so tightly that he inadvertently wheezes. Still, Dean squeezes back, his arms coming around Castiel’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, only to blink with surprise when he realizes Castiel is saying the same thing.
“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, his voice thick. “Dean, I know this is weird—”
“Shut up,” Dean says, a rough tenderness in his voice. His hand slides to rest between Castiel’s shoulders. “Just shut up, okay?”
“Okay,” Castiel answers. A suspicious sniffle follows his words.
Dean’s not sure about the average length of hugs, but he’s almost positive that this hug goes well beyond the normal allotted time. He’s not complaining. Castiel is warm, and the heat of his body seeps in through Dean’s shirt. Castiel’s chest bumps against his on every inhale, and every time, Dean thrills with the contact. If Dean turns his head, he can get the faintest whiff of Castiel’s shampoo and cologne.
Finally, Castiel pulls away. Dean bites down hard on his lower lip to stopper a small sound of loss. Castiel looks up at the sky and rubs the back of his hand roughly over his eyes. Dean pretends to be fascinated with the stones under his feet.
“Shit, I need a smoke,” Castiel says. His normally deep voice sounds like he’s been gargling broken glass. “Do you want to join me?”
Dean looks at him. “ I don’t smoke.”
Castiel’s laugh is humorless. “I quit two years ago. Please? I’d appreciate the company.”
There’s not much Dean would refuse Castiel. Less, when he asks so soft and earnest, like he’s already weighed the pain of rejection into his request.
Dean falls wordlessly into step behind Castiel as he walks to the patio. Though he’s had ample time to look at the backyard, he’s never walked around out here, and he takes the opportunity to look around.
The flowers look different on the ground than they do from the window of the carriage house. There, everything has an order, neat rows laid out with an architect’s precision. On the ground, the flowers are a riot of color. They’re just growing into themselves, but Dean is already entranced by their wildness.
He grunts when he settles into the patio furniture. Though the cushion is cold, the chair is comfortable, especially when he stretches out his legs and tilts his head back. They’re still close enough to Salt Lake City that light pollution obscures most of the stars, but Dean catches a quick glimpse here and there.
The lighter snicks several times, but it’s not until Dean hears Castiel’s sharp sigh of irritation that he looks over. Castiel is trying to light his cigarette, but his hands are shaking too badly to work the lighter properly.
“Here,” Dean says quietly, taking the lighter from Castiel’s fingers. “Let me.”
His thumb moves over the wheel of the lighter with the ease of practice, and a flame sparks to life. Dean cups it with his hand and offers it to Castiel.
The flame throws the sharp angles of Castiel’s face into sharp relief, and Dean can’t help but stare. He thought he knew what Castiel looked like, but he’s entranced by the cut of Castiel’s jaw, the dark stubble covering his cheeks. His cigarette rests on the gentle curve of his lower lip, and Dean doesn’t think he’s ever been so jealous of an inanimate object.
In the dim light of the flame, Castiel’s eyes are huge, midnight pools. His pupils swallow everything, and Dean feels himself falling. Without taking his eyes off of Dean, Castiel leans forward so that the tip of his cigarette is bathed in the flame. His lips close around the filter and he inhales once, twice.
Dean’s thumb relaxes on the wheel and the flame goes out. In the sudden darkness, Dean blinks, trying to adjust his vision. When he can see beyond strange shapes and floaters, he offers the lighter back to Castiel. The tips of their fingers brush as they exchange the lighter, and something electric passes through Dean’s body. A wild thought seizes him
—
he could wrap his fingers around Castiel’s hand, feel the warm skin directly against his fingertips.
Castiel’s fingers jerk against his, and Dean yanks his hand away as though he’s been stung. Castiel stares after him for a second, something small and lost in his expression, before he leans against the chair. His body is loose-limbed as he tilts his head towards the sky, revealing the long, bare expanse of his throat. Thin wisps of smoke curl out of his nostrils.
“I guess you heard.” Castiel’s voice is flat, and his shoulders shake with a dry, mirthless laugh. “Never mind. I think people within ten city blocks heard.”
“Not everything,” Dean says, when it becomes clear that lying isn’t going to work. “I mean… I don’t know what you two were fighting about,” he finishes lamely.
“What
weren’t
we fighting about? It seems lately all we do is fight.”
Dean tries not to look too interested or surprised. This is the first he’s hearing about fights. He’s not stupid
—
he has basic comprehension skills, and he’s noticed what Castiel says, or more importantly, what he
doesn’t
say in their conversations. Luke is a topic easily sidestepped around, but Dean’s noticed how many more poker nights there seem to be, how business trips pile around him like dirty socks. He saw the cracks, but he didn’t know they were more like canyons.
“I’m sorry,” Dean offers.
Castiel huffs, and Dean can’t tell whether the sound is derisive, skeptical, or both. “I want to say that it wasn’t always this bad, but then I stop and think and… Maybe it was. Maybe I’m just now seeing it.”
Sam is the wannabe lawyer in the family. He could tell Dean whether or not this conversation is ethical (Dean is fairly certain it’s not). He would probably advise Dean of his rights and tell him to get the hell out.
Too bad that Dean’s made it a staple of his life not to listen to good advice.
“Maybe it’ll get better.” Dean’s voice sounds weak, and he doesn't know if it’s because he truly doesn’t believe that or if he just doesn’t want it to be true.
“Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and I’ll be twenty-two again without shitty knees,” Castiel snaps. He takes a particularly vicious inhale of his cigarette. “Shit, I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”
“It’s fine.” Dean curls his fingers on the arms of the chair. His fingernails screech gently against the cheap wood. He doesn’t want to look directly at Castiel, but he can’t stop himself from looking anywhere else. “I mean. It is what it is.”
“No, it was a dick move. I just… I can’t keep doing this.” Castiel runs his fingers through his hair. The end result leaves his hair looking like he’s just stuck his finger in an electrical socket
(or like he’s just been fucked,
a sly voice whispers in the back of Dean’s mind), but Dean’s certainly not complaining.
“Five years of my life, and… Was I really just wasting time?”
Castiel sounds like he’s just musing to himself. His eyes don’t even flick towards Dean, which is good, because Dean’s having difficulty breathing at the moment.
“Cas,” he tries, but Castiel isn’t listening.
“I think I’m going to break up with him,” he says, rolling the words around in his mouth like they’re just occurring to him, like they taste fresh and new. “I think…”
“Cas,” Dean says again, this time sharper.
Castiel sits up like someone’s yanked on his strings. His eyes are wild, and his cigarette almost loses the battle with gravity as it rests on his bottom lip.
“I can’t…” Dean shakes his head. He grips the arms of his chair so hard that his knuckles creak. Every muscle in his body is tense as he strains towards Castiel, and it takes a superhuman effort to hold himself back.
The words rest on the tip of Dean’s tongue.
You should break up with him. He’s not good for you, he treats you like shit, you don’t need someone to take care of you. You’re no one’s trophy, you’re no one’s pet.
And then, deeper and more dangerous,
You should be with me. Give me a chance.
He can’t. He can’t flay himself open and lay himself bare. He can’t allow Castiel to rummage through him, his elegant fingers so perfectly careless with such frighteningly delicate things.
“I can’t talk about this with you,” Dean finally says, his voice rough and strangled.
“Oh. All right.” Something wounded passes over Castiel’s face. His shoulders curl into themselves, and his elbows tuck in closer to his body. He looks like he’s bracing for a blow, and Dean hates himself for putting that look on Castiel’s face.
“I just mean…” Dean stares helplessly at Castiel, his leg jumping in time with the beating of his heart. Damn it, why does everything he says come out
wrong?
“No, it’s fine. I understand.” Castiel’s face is shuttering, second by second, and Dean feels like he’s disappearing in front of his eyes.
“Damn it, Cas, it’s because…” Guilt curdles in Dean’s stomach when Castiel flinches away from his harsh tone. He forces a swallow, though his throat threatens to close, and exhales slowly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. When he speaks again, he keeps his voice soft. “I ain’t exactly an unbiased observer, Cas.”
Dean’s stomach tries to burrow through the bedrock of the earth. Meanwhile, his heart claws its way up through his chest to try and lodge halfway up his throat. He can feel every beat of his heart echoed through his body, down to his fingertips.
He catches the moment realization starts to spread over Castiel’s face. Blue eyes go wide, and Castiel’s eyebrows try to kiss his hairline. His mouth falls open in surprise, and only reflex saves his cigarette from falling into his lap. It doesn’t save his fingers however, as the cherry burns through the filter and scalds his skin.
Castiel curses and drops the cigarette. His heel moves in a semicircle, stubbing it out, but he never takes his eyes off of Dean, not even when he sticks his burnt knuckles into his mouth. When Dean catches a flash of pink tongue swiping over the skin, he thinks his heart might stop.
“Cas,” he says, his voice strangled. His weak smile threatens to slide off his face like oil flowing across water. “Say something man, you’re killing me.”
“I’m sorry.” The words tumble out of Castiel’s mouth, and Dean can tell that the apology is a reflex. “I just…”
With every passing second, Dean’s hopes sink lower and lower. Right now, they’re somewhere around his ankles and starting to dig through the earth. He thinks they might have continued downward until he reached China, but for the gentle fingertip Castiel places on his knee.
“Please don’t panic.” Coming from anyone else, the request would sound ludicrous. Coming from Castiel, Dean is helpless to do anything other than obey.
“I’m trying, but you’re kind of leaving me out on a limb here,” Dean mutters. His eyes flick towards Castiel before he focuses on the edge of the patio. His hands smooth over his thighs, wiping away imaginary crumbs and stains.
“We were fighting about you,” Castiel says abruptly. “Luke thought that I had feelings for you.” The pause between that sentence and the next lasts approximately a decade before Castiel whispers, “He was right.”
When Dean was younger, Sam managed to talk him into going on a roller coaster at a fair. All during the wait, Dean was terrified
—
he could see rust on the structure, and the whole contraption seemed to be powered by nothing more than a simple extension cord, like the ones he found in the basement. By the time the thin metal bar was strapped across his lap, Dean was close to vomiting.
The whole ride was nothing less than excruciating. The car rattled and shook so hard that Dean thought his teeth were going to vibrate out of his skull, but worst of all were the swooping sensations as the car went into a dive and then a loop. Dean felt like his stomach was on a boomerang, where it left his body only to slam back into it seconds later. Dean thought he was going to die, but there was a certain exhilaration to it as well. Life seemed sweeter when the end was rushing towards him.
Hearing Castiel say he has feelings for him is kind of like that.
Dean’s hand leaves his knee. He doesn’t realize what he’s groping for until Castiel’s fingers wrap around his. The simple jolt of connection is enough to spark tears in his eyes. He blinks furiously to clear his vision, pathetically grateful for the darkness hiding his expression.
Castiel’s thumb rests against his knuckle, sweeping back and forth over skin roughened by long years of working with engines and scrubbing grease off his hands. Under Castiel’s touch, something wild in Dean settles; the raging tempest cools to a small rumble in the clouds.
“It has to end.” Castiel’s voice is thin and small, and, thinking that he means
them
, himself and Dean, Dean tries to jerk away. Before he can, however, Castiel’s fingers tighten around his hand, keeping him prisoner. “Not you. Dean, I don’t… I know that we’ve only known each other for a few months, but…”
Castiel trails off, but Dean doesn’t need him to say anything else. Whenever he talks to Castiel, there’s something
right
about it, like finally finding the right pair of shoes after trying almost everything on.
“I know,” Dean says. His hand relaxes in Castiel’s, and they just sit together for a little while. Until Dean shivers in the chilly air, goosebumps rising on his arms.
“Shit,” Castiel mutters, finally seeming to notice Dean’s state of dress. “You need to get inside; it’s cold out. And I guess I’ll…”
He looks at the house. Dean doesn’t need to see his expression to notice reluctance stamped over every piece of him. He looks like a gladiator preparing himself to step into the arena, and Dean can’t stand it.
“You could come with me,” he offers. Almost immediately after issuing the invitation, he blushes. “Not like that,” he clarifies, stammering over the words. “Nothing… I mean, just to sleep, you know. In case you didn’t want to go back there.”
“Could I?” If Castiel thinks there’s something strange about asking to stay in his own guesthouse, he doesn’t let on about it. He just looks at Dean, his eyes huge and imploring in the porchlight. “I just don’t want… It’s all
his
stuff in there, and I can’t…”
“Come on.” Dean tugs lightly on their joined hands to pull Castiel to his feet. Castiel comes without complaint, following behind Dean as he opens the door. The stairs prove difficult to navigate with one hand stretched behind him, but he manages until they’re upstairs and standing in the living room.
Castiel’s eyes shift towards the couch. “I can sleep here,” he says. There’s a strange flatness in his voice, like he’s trying to force all of the emotion out.
“Or…” Dean rocks back on his heels, shoving his chilly fingers inside his jeans pockets to try and warm them up. He can’t bear to look at Castiel head on, so he ducks his head to glance at him from the corner of his eye. “Just to sleep,” he says, hoping that Castiel will pick up his train of thought as he’s done effortlessly so many times before.
There are dozens of reasons for Castiel to refuse. Now that the truth is out in the open, they’re both standing on a slippery slope. The slightest misstep could send them plunging into an abyss.
In the past, Dean doesn’t think he would have minded. He would have taken the easy choice, the immediate opportunity, and not thought about the consequences. What was the point in worrying about the future? But now… Castiel is too important. He doesn’t want to fuck this up by doing something stupid.
But Castiel looks so lost, and Dean can’t bear the thought of leaving him alone.
“Okay.” Castiel’s soft whisper takes a second to reach Dean’s ears. “Okay.”
They stand in the living room with the tips of their fingers still curled together. Castiel blinks, his mouth falling open slightly. Caught in his gravity, Dean sways forward.
His skin yearns for Castiel’s touch. He longs to taste him, to discover Castiel’s secret places, to hear what he sounds like. For the first time, he wants someone
—
he wants
Castiel
—
to do the same to him. He wants to tell Castiel the things he’s never bothered to tell anyone else
—
like how someone once offered him twenty bucks for a handjob when he was sixteen, and how, with his belly cramping with two days’ hunger, he had to think for a second before turning them down. How he still flinches whenever someone raises a fist too quickly. How he tried to fit himself into Lisa’s life by lopping off a part of himself here and gluing a different piece on there, and how it was never quite enough. How, no matter how hard he’s tried throughout his life,
Dean
has never been enough.
“Dean.”
The simple sound of his name acts like a slap across his face. Dean jerks backward, the heel of his boot snagging against the rug. He flails, feeling gravity start to tip him backwards. Before he can fall on his ass, however, Castiel’s hands land on his upper arms, jerking him upright.
“Sorry,” Castiel apologizes. He doesn’t pull his hands away from Dean’s biceps. Instead, he sneaks the tip of his finger underneath the sleeve of Dean’s t-shirt. Dean’s heart is beating so quickly that he’s sure Castiel can see the thrum of his pulse just underneath his skin.
“Cas,” Dean says. His voice is breathier than he would like. Instead of a warning, it comes out like a plea. He can’t think straight — Castiel’s hands are on him, Castiel is in front of him, his blue eyes like two deep wells. “Cas, we—”
“I know. I know.” Castiel’s voice is tight with frustration, and even though he acknowledges the impossibility of their situation, he doesn’t let Dean go, and he doesn’t look away. “I just… I really like you, Dean.”
Dean scoffs. He bites his lower lip as he looks over Castiel’s shoulder. “Not much to like,” he mumbles, “just a pretty face.”
Castiel’s fingers dig into his biceps (and if that was supposed to
discourage
him, then Castiel needs to rethink his strategy). “Stop,” he says, his voice low with warning. “I don’t know how you see yourself, but I know how I see you. You’re kind, and funny, and intelligent. You’re a good friend and an amazing brother. You’re caring and compassionate, and whenever I’m having a bad day, all I want is to talk to you.”
“Wow, Cas.” Dean chuckles. “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a crush.”
“Perhaps I do.” A tiny half-smile lingers on Castiel’s face. His fingers rub against Dean’s skin for just a moment before he lets go. Dean tries not to whimper at the loss.
“Bed,” Dean finally decides. “Not that way!” he snaps when it looks like Castiel might say something in reply.
Dean turns around to hide his blush from Castiel. His ears feel hot, and he knows that the back of his neck is bright pink. His fingers twitch with the desire to cover the skin and hide his shame, but he forces his hand into his pocket as he turns and walks into the bedroom.
Castiel doesn’t immediately follow him, for which Dean is grateful. It gives him time to slip out of his jeans and into a pair of sweatpants. Normally he prefers to sleep in boxers, but the thought of being so vulnerable with Castiel next to him threatens to set Dean’s skin on fire.
Castiel comes in just as Dean finishes sliding underneath the covers. He smiles wanly as he walks to the other end of the bed. Dean keeps his eyes straight ahead and doesn’t stare at how Castiel balances himself with a single hand on the bed as he toes his shoes off. He definitely doesn’t stare at how Castiel drops his head back and rolls his shoulders before climbing into bed.
He does breathe a small sigh of relief that Castiel doesn’t try to get underneath the covers. The blanket between them provides scant protection, but it at least provides
some.
Castiel settles back into the pillows. A soft sigh fills the room, and when Dean dares to look over to the side, he sees that Castiel’s eyes are closed. His hands are folded over his stomach, like he’s cosplaying Sleeping Beauty.
Dean waits until he’s almost positive Castiel is asleep before he whispers, “I’m sorry you fought with Luke.”
A second later, Castiel hums softly. “Are you? I’m not.”
Dean stares at Castiel’s profile until he falls asleep.
|
Izuku had told Kacchan to call him when he was ready. Two weeks later and that call still hadn’t come.
Perhaps he was being a little dramatic; it wasn’t as if Bakugo was avoiding him. There’d been more than one text to spar and they’d seen each other at the most recent special mission meeting. (And Izuku swore he was paying attention to the fact that they’d connected four more crimes to their case and not how close Kacchan was sitting to Camie.)
Still, Izuku waited for the text. The one that asked him to come over. For sex.
His metal locker echoed in the empty changing room when Izuku knocked his head against the cool metal. Waiting for Kacchan to call him was worse than when he was actively craving his scent. Undirected horniness could be ignored or kept at bay with the right supplies in the middle of the night. It was a completely different experience to actively be waiting for something that may or may not come.
What if Kacchan wasn’t actually interested in having sex with him? Izuku thought he’d convinced him, but maybe the Alpha was just going along with it for Izuku’s sake. Knowing Kacchan, he was waiting for Izuku to come to him first.
That was not going to happen. No matter how horny Izuku was, he needed Bakugo to come to him this time. He needed to know he wanted this too.
Izuku changed into his workout clothing on autopilot, his mind still stuck on whether Kacchan was really okay with their agreement. When he was completely changed, he paused by one of the many mirrors to check his Mark. He smiled at his reflection when he saw that it was still properly covered.
The rest of the gym was as empty as the locker room. Just how Izuku liked it. With the structured patrols and people naturally being creatures of routine, he could always predict when the Nest would be relatively empty. 10 pm was just late enough that it was well past the end of day patrols and early enough that the heroes on night patrol had not returned yet.
That’s why he was surprised when he saw Kirishima sitting on one of the metal benches in front of Weight Room 4.
Immediately, Izuku tensed. The look on his old classmate’s face was wrong. Kirishima—normally so full of life and manly energy—looked hard, his face frozen as he stared forward. As Izuku neared, movement caught his eye in the room to his right.
Katsuki looked so wrong pounding into the heavy punching bag in formal wear. His light gray dress shirt had turned charcoal as his explosive sweat soaked the cotton. His silk red tie swung with each punch, barely hanging on around his neck by a very loose knot. The bandages around his knuckles were tinged with blood. Izuku watched him for a moment, still standing a few feet away from Kirishima, before he finally spoke.
“How long has he been in there?”
If Kirishima was startled by Izuku’s presence, he didn’t show it. “Early afternoon? He’s been here since I got off patrols at four.”
Izuku walked over to the front of the bench and took a seat next to his fellow Omega. They watched Bakugo continue his brutal pace, the punching bag silently swinging from the momentum of each impact as the sound couldn’t penetrate the thick glass separating them.
“Do you know what happened?”
“A few months ago he got involved in some domestic abuse case while on patrol.”
“Oh.” Izuku tried to keep the surprise from his voice only to fail miserably. Hero cases usually involved the villains that people could see. Illegal quirk usage, robberies, violent assaults in dark alleyways; those were the cases that attracted Pro-Heroes. The nuanced crimes hidden behind closed doors and fake smiles usually fell to the police.
“I’d forgotten that the trial was today.” Kirishima brought one arm up to the back of his neck to rub at his still tense muscles. “I would’ve gone with him if I thought he’d go. But Bakubro isn’t the kind of guy to tell us what he’s gonna do ahead of time, ya know?”
Izuku gave the other man a small, reassuring smile. “I know.”
“Well, it didn’t go too well, apparently. The girl didn’t show up to testify and the rest of the evidence wasn’t strong enough on its own. Guess they dropped all the charges.”
They watched Katsuki in silence, all too familiar with what he must be feeling. Even the Symbol of Victory lost sometimes. Izuku put on a smile and gripped Kirishima’s shoulder.
“You should head home, I can watch him from here.”
The other Omega turned to him with wide red eyes. “Huh? What? No, I’m cool, dude.”
“You’ve been here for over six hours. Go home. Get food. I’m sure Mina’s worried about you.”
At the mention of Mina, Kirishima gave Izuku an embarrassed grin. “We were supposed to go on a date tonight, but I might’ve blown her off.”
“Then you definitely should go. You don’t want to make your Alpha Girlfriend angry on date night.”
Kirishima laughed, his voice a little less hollow and a little more like himself. “You’re right about that! Okay, you sure you’ve got this?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid.”
“You know all about that.”
“Hey!” The pair laughed together this time before Kirishima stood with a short wave.
“See ya.”
“Have a good night, Kirishima.”
After the last echoes of Kirishima’s footsteps died away, Izuku stood up himself. He stared at Katsuki a moment longer before heading toward the door. Izuku had barely wedged his body inside before he was throwing himself to the right to avoid the controlled explosion headed his way.
“I said stay the fuck away from me Shitty Hair!”
“Kirishima left.”
The jangle of chains that filled the room stopped suddenly as Katsuki caught the bag mid-swing. Silence hung heavy in the air mixing with the sweet scent of nitroglycerin and sharp spice of cinnamon.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Deku?”
The Alpha released the bag and began punching it once again. Izuku paused before deeming it safe to enter the room further. The closer he got the more he realized how exhausted Kacchan looked. Finally he was right beside him, close enough to feel the vibrations of each punch cutting through the air. He curved around the bag, bracing it with his own body to keep it from bouncing with each hit. Crimson eyes flicked his way, but the blows kept coming. They continued like that in relative silence except for the sound of each impact.
“You could’ve texted me to spar.”
“You had patrol.”
“Afterwards.”
Bakugo grunted but his fist paused against the smooth plastic. Izuku waited for him to speak, but the words didn’t come. Instead, the Alpha pushed himself away and began walking toward the door. Izuku stared after him, his top teeth digging into his lower lip. He followed soon after.
The locker room was just as empty as he’d left it, only now it echoed with sounds of metal on metal as Kacchan moved about a little too violently. Izuku sighed. Guess he could skip the workout tonight and go straight for the showers. After making a quick stop at his locker for a fresh towel, he walked that way. But first he had to pass Kacchan.
Izuku stole a glance toward the Alpha only to connect with a fiery stare that brought him to a halt.
“Why don’t people fucking get it?” The intensity of Katsuki’s eyes made it difficult to understand his words. “How the fuck is shit supposed to change if you don’t hold them accountable? Assholes need to be woken the fuck up. They can’t—you can’t let—”
The Alpha let out a loud snarl as he turned to his locker and slammed it shut. His breath came out in loud pants and a feeling Izuku couldn’t pinpoint traveled through his veins. He could feel a strong urge to reach out for the other man, but Izuku didn’t dare move.
Katsuki grabbed his towel from the bench behind him and stormed past Izuku. Their shoulders knocked in the process, but that wasn’t what left the Omega off balance. He dropped his eyes to floor. Seconds later, the sound of water bursting through old pipes reverberated off the shower tiles.
It took too much energy to drag himself in that direction. Why didn’t Izuku ever know what to say in situations like this? On the battlefield, he moved without thinking. But when it came to finding the right words, he froze. Every time.
The warm water that rained down from the showerhead didn’t calm him like he’d hoped. Izuku closed his eyes and pictured the look on Kacchan’s face. He wondered if Kacchan knew how pained he looked beneath his anger.
Izuku tensed when he felt a presence behind him but forced himself to relax as soon as he realized who it was. Calloused hands gripped his waist, fingers slotting into the dip of his hip as Katsuki’s thumbs rubbed across his scarred skin. Cinnamon and smoke cut through the shower mist and suddenly the fingers pressed harder into his skin.
“Tell me to stop.”
A shiver went up Izuku’s spine. His hand automatically reached up to press against the tile of the shower stall to keep him upright and away from the wall as he tilted his head back in an attempt to look at the other man. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see the Alpha’s face as he now began to nip at the skin of Izuku’s shoulder, just to the left of the silicone hiding his Mark.
“Why?”
His elbow buckled a little as Katsuki pressed his body flush against his back. Izuku could feel a hard dick naturally slotting itself between his ass cheeks. The heat of the shower was nothing compared to that in his gut. The Omega could feel himself already producing slick. But something was wrong. Even as Kacchan began to rut against him, his throbbing cock only teasing against Izuku’s ass, Izuku couldn’t shake the feeling of pain in his chest.
That’s when he realized the problem.
“Kacchan,” Izuku paused to stifle a moan as one of the Alpha’s hands reached around to fist his cock. “You don’t have to worry. You’re not going to hurt me.”
Everything stopped. The stroking of his dick, the pressure against his ass; it seemed like even the water droplets falling overhead froze mid-air. Then Izuku was falling forward, his arm once again the only thing keeping him from hitting the wall in front of him. He spun as quickly as he could, Kacchan’s name stuck in his throat but the Alpha was already gone. Izuku closed his eyes, his ears straining to hear any sign of the other Pro-Hero. He heard nothing.
He groaned, turned his head back forward to lean against the cool tile in front of him.
Izuku never had the right words.
The text he’d been waiting for arrived the following day. Izuku stared at the phone in his hand for nearly an hour before he agreed to meet later that evening. After what had happened yesterday, he wondered if he should’ve said no. But after what happened yesterday, Izuku couldn’t say no.
Instead, he stood in front of Katsuki’s door ten whole minutes early and took in a deep breath. The straps of his backpack dug into his shoulder as he reached forward and knocked on the door.
Every thought, every fear, every plan went straight out the window the minute Katsuki Bakugo opened the door with no shirt on.
Izuku had grown up with Kacchan; they’d been in the same gym class and locker room since they could walk. Yet, the sight of Kacchan’s chiseled abs and powerful pecs combined with the knowledge that this man was about to fuck him short-circuited Izuku’s brain.
Katsuki obviously noticed. The Alpha’s scowl warped into a knowing smirk as his red eyes severed the very tendons that kept Izuku standing upright.
“You gonna stand there all day?”
The Omega straightened himself with a snap. He stepped into the apartment on robotic legs and forced himself to look at his surroundings (and everywhere but Kacchan). Izuku had never visited Kacchan before, but the apartment was exactly how he pictured it. Modern, sleek, immaculate. While Izuku’s studio looked like an amalgamation of every phase of his life, Katsuki’s apartment could’ve come straight out of a magazine.
“Strip.”
Izuku turned, his face inexplicably hot even before he caught sight of Katsuki untying the string of his sweatpants.
“Wait!”
Bakugo froze, his thumb hooked into his waistband. His brows furrowed. “Hah? Now what?”
Izuku clenched his eyes shut, willing the image of Kacchan out of his head, just for a second so that he could remember the words he’d planned to say. Crap. He hadn’t realize this was going to be so difficult.
“If this is going to be a thing, then I thought we should set some ground rules.” Izuku opened his eyes and purposefully met the other Pro-Hero’s annoyed glare. “You know, so we’re on the same page.”
Tension connected the two men, Omega to Alpha, strung so tight that Izuku could hang from it. Izuku pressed his tongue into the sharp edge of one of his upper teeth. He refused to back down on this.
Eventually, Bakugo looked away, clicking his tongue to roof of his mouth with an annoyed “tch.”
“You fucking talk to much. But, whatever. This is all your idea, after all.”
The Alpha walked past him, his temporary closeness raising Izuku’s internal temperature a few more degrees, before he dropped his body onto the couch. He raised his arms to rest them on top of the back of the cushions, taking up an inordinate amount of space in the otherwise open room. Kacchan tilted his head back and smirked again.
“So?”
With no more time to hesitate, Izuku forced himself to swallow the saliva clogging his throat. He walked over toward the couch, dropping his bag to the floor, but remained standing in front of Katsuki.
“No cameras. No pictures, no videos; there can’t be any record that someone else could access.” Izuku paused for a response, but Kacchan just stared expectantly. The Omega continued. “I’m on suppressants and birth control, but I prefer that we use a condom. Um...at least at first.”
As he added that last bit, Izuku had to look away. Not that he didn’t still see the sharp smile Katsuki sent him in his periphery.
“Marks are fine, but not anywhere that can’t be easily covered. I don’t mind trying something new, but you have to warn me first. I prefer knowing what’s going to happen ahead of time.” Izuku brought his hand up to his forearm. After yesterday, maybe he should hold back on this part, but he rather they have everything out in the open from the start.
“I—uh—like a little pain, rough is usually better. But we can always have a safe word or just say stop, or—”
“You done yet, nerd?”
This time Izuku looked back, Katsuki was leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. His eyes burned into Izuku’s, somehow more predatory than usual. Izuku’s next words came out much quieter than he intended.
“What do you like, Kacchan?”
Without breaking eye contact, the Alpha pushed himself up with his hands against his knees. It only took one step to close the distance between them. Katsuki’s hand carded through Izuku’s hair, twisting his curls between his fingers. He pulled Izuku’s head in close, putting his lips against his ear.
“How about I show you?”
A quick tug on his hair pulled Izuku back far enough for Katsuki to bring him into a hard kiss.
Part of Izuku wanted to point out how that was the exact opposite of “warning him first” but another, more all-consuming, thought was that he’d never imagined this. Kacchan kissing him. The kiss deepened but Izuku’s brain was still running a mile a minute.
Is this really what Kacchan wanted? Did he actually want to have sex with him, Deku? Deku could act confident; he wasn’t exactly inexperienced and knew from years of putting practice to action that sex with him could be good. Still, this was Kacchan. He had doubts. The Alpha had pulled away once, what stopped him from doing it again? If only Izuku knew what he liked, then he could—
Izuku hit the wall hard, giving out a gasp of surprise. He hadn’t even noticed how he’d been maneuvered to the opposite side of the room.
“Shut the fuck up, nerd.” Katsuki’s hot breath tickled Izuku’s neck as he growled against his sensitive skin. “The only shit I wanna hear are the sounds I’ll have you making.”
“Bu—ahh,” the teeth sinking into bare skin stole the air from his lungs and the words from his lips.
Just like that, it all stopped. Kacchan, with nothing more than his talented tongue licking a trail up his throat and rough fingers still tugging at his hair, had finally done what countless one night-stands and his own horny hand could never manage. Izuku’s brain stopped thinking.
Katsuki Bakugo’s fingers were electric prongs sending every one of his synapses alight to the point of overstimulation. Every villain, every concern, every regret combusted in a burst of nitroglycerin fueled lust. Kacchan’s pheromones muddled Izuku’s brain in a way no other Alpha had managed before, bringing out the most basic, carnal, primal instincts within him. So when their lips met again, Izuku focused on his own hands wrapping around broad shoulders to leave small crescents in the Alpha’s skin.
By the time Katsuki’s hand had slipped into his jeans to grip his ass, Izuku was already wet with slick. The Omega cracked an eye open just in time to watch the Alpha’s pupils grow wide. The scent in the air changed. Cinnamon gave way to smoke, heady and thick. But rather than smothering, the smell invigorated him. Immediately Izuku was fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans, tearing them downwards, before using his legs to kick the denim off.
He’d barely gotten them off before another warm hand gripped his other ass-cheek, lifting him up in the air and against hard abs in one smooth motion. Izuku wasn’t tall or broad shouldered like the Alpha Pro-Heroes at his agency, but he was still nothing but lean, heavy muscle. It’d been a while since someone could pick him up and fuck if it wasn’t hot.
Izuku moaned under his breath, rutting his hips up and down washboard abs to the approving growl of the Alpha once again nipping at his neck. They were moving again, this time Izuku knew, but he didn’t care. He was removing his shirt, secure in the knowledge that Kacchan could handle the extra movement with his strong hold. His shirt didn’t even hit the ground before his back was bouncing against a mattress.
“Turn around.”
The Pro-Hero looked up to blazing eyes tracing his body in a voracious leer. His throat seized as a whine threatened to rip itself free. Instead, Izuku turned as instructed, instinctively propping himself up on his hands and knees. He waited for the mattress to dip under Kacchan’s weight, waited for the electricity from the other’s touch to make him weak again. He waited, and waited, and waited.
Just as he was about to turn around to see what had happened, a hand gripped his hair and his head was pulled back against his shoulders. Two fingers pressed against his lips.
“Suck.”
Izuku glanced up and saw that Katsuki’s face was deadly serious. The Omega opened his lips. He couldn’t move his head away as the fingers were thrust into his mouth down to the knuckle. It caught him by surprise, but Izuku kept his gag reflex at bay. Instead, he made sure to hold Kacchan’s stare as he began to suck on the digits, his tongue expertly massaging them in a way he hoped would remind the Alpha of what else he could be sucking.
It seemed to be working because the number three hero’s eyes fell half-lidded with lust. Without warning, the fingers in Izuku’s mouth trapped his tongue, pressing down on it with a pressure that suddenly made him weak. This time, he had no control over the sounds that escaped his mouth although they came out muffled. Kacchan growled, less than pleased. Right, Kacchan wanted to hear him, didn’t he? Izuku could do that.
The fingers in his mouth removed themselves with a pop, his hair released at the same time so that his head dropped to his chest. Izuku’s eyes flicked to his right, watching with a hungry expression as Bakugo finally ripped off his sweatpants.
Anticipation clenched at Izuku’s gut, his cock twitching as he felt Kacchan finally climb onto the bed behind him. He felt one of the saliva-slicked fingers trace its way down his back. He shivered from the touch, begging in his head for Kacchan to get on with it.
But the finger stopped right at the top of his ass, situated right between his ass-cheeks.
“Say it, Deku.”
“Say what, Kacchan?” Izuku tried to sound aloof, but it came out as airy.
The finger on his ass pressed into his skin as the Alpha’s free hand game up to squeeze his hip. “Say it.”
Izuku bit at his bottom lip as the fire in his gut grew, its flames now licking at his heart.
“Touch me. Fuck me.” Izuku hesitated, drawing in as much air as possible. “Please, Kacchan?”
He’d said the magic words because all at once the finger was inside of him, sliding in easily because of his own spit and slick. Izuku gasped as Katsuki pressed into him, his finger exploring him with a casual ease. As if it wasn’t setting him on fire from the inside out.
The second finger joined soon after that and Izuku stopped fighting the instinct to rock back into the touch. As Katsuki began to make a scissoring movement with his fingers, Izuku felt himself stretch, a slight burn he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. Had it really been that long ago?
Katsuki hooked his fingers in just the right away to graze Izuku’s prostate and his only thought was YES. It’d been too long.
He needed this. He needed to feel this again. He needed more. He needed—
“Kacchan!” Izuku cried out. His voice cracked as the pressure inside of him was suddenly gone. He bucked against the empty air, his arms shaking in despair and want.
Every one of his senses reached out for Alpha; his tongue dry, his eyes open but unseeing. He heard the crinkle of plastic, smelled cocoa thick in the air. And then he felt it; the thick tip of Kacchan’s cock against his ass, hot despite the thin bit of latex between them.
This time the Omega was the one giving the commands, whiney and broken as they were. “Ahh-f-fuck me.”
Five sets of nails dug into his hips as Alpha cock pushed into him with slow and deliberate motions. If this was supposed to be teasing, Izuku didn’t feel it. Every sensation had been set to max and he choked on his own pleasure and moans. Katsuki’s movements picked up, his thrusts purposeful but harsh. Suddenly, Izuku saw sparks, thousands of small red and orange x’s, across his vision as Kacchan hit his prostate again.
“Ka- nngh” he cut himself off again with a mangled groan as Kacchan continued to hit the same spot over and over and over. “W-wai—”
Katsuki’s hand wrapped around his previously untouched dick and instantly he came, sending thick white liquid onto his stomach and the bed.
“That quick, Deku? ” The Alpha whispered as he leaned his chest against Izuku’s back to get closer to his ear. Izuku’s arms shook again. He could hold up an entire building with his hands, but he couldn’t hold up the devil on his shoulders. “Shoulda known you’d be fa—”
The Alpha cut off with a growl as Izuku pressed back in time with one of his thrusts.
“What the— fuck,” Katsuki dropped his forehead into the dip of Izuku’s shoulder blades, his breath hot and ragged. “Fuck, Deku, you’re so damn tight. How the—fuck, it feels—”
Izuku felt hot again, the heat spreading all across his face until it burned through the last of his control. He was panting, too, his thick thighs still strong where his arms were weak, propelling himself backward into each thrust. The hands still on his hips tightened just to the point of pain and Izuku screamed out Kacchan’s name as the Alpha came.
They held their positions, both struggling to breath through the forest fire of pheromones they’d created. When finally Bakugo pulled out, Izuku allowed himself to fall onto his elbows, as much as he didn’t want to. Still, he couldn’t help but try to save face.
He turned his head over his shoulder, ignoring the flush of his face and the curls sticking to his forehead with sweat.
“Is that what you like, Kacchan?”
|
The first snowball glanced off Hotch’s arm, although Reid knew it had been meant for him when he saw the grimace on Morgan’s face. The Unit Chief retaliated immediately, hurling the packed snow with an unexpected accuracy and hitting Morgan in the chest. No one was quite sure who threw the third one, but it took less than ten seconds for everyone to buddy up in groups of three or four.
Reid wasn't quite certain how he'd ended up being led by Jack to one of the more exceptional vantage points in the yard, but he definitely wasn't complaining. He crouched behind the stone wall and turned to both Hotchners, who were already scooping up snow and almost expertly creating snowballs and forming a decent pile. Reid followed their leads and started packing snow together, as well, to put in a second pile. “You two do this often,” he observed aloud, his gaze on his gloved hands.
“Yep! Uncle Dave has the best yard for snowball fights,” Jack explained, and Reid glanced at the boy to see him grinning. “We can usually do them at least once a month.”
That particular piece of information was startling, and Reid couldn’t help but look at Hotch curiously. The older man caught him looking and shrugged one shoulder, lips curling into a grin that made Reid’s heart stutter. “I’ve always enjoyed it. There’s something almost freeing about it.”
“And Daddy and I always win,” Jack added, dusting off the excess snow on his gloves.
Reid was surprised to see Hotch nod. “That, too,” the dark-haired man concurred, spurring a laugh from Reid’s throat.
At that moment Jack looked at Reid’s pile of snowballs and frowned. “Spence isn’t doing them right,” he murmured, causing Reid to frown as well. He glanced at Hotch for assistance but the Unit Chief seemed content to keep quiet.
“I, uh, don’t typically partake in snowball fights,” the genius profiler admitted, smiling sheepishly. “I wasn’t aware there was a correct way to make snowballs.”
Jack nodded. “Watch me.” The boy started piling snow up before picking up the slightly-packed blob and packing it together more. “You can’t make them too small, or they hurt, and you can’t make them too big, or you won’t be able to throw them far enough,” Jack stated matter-of-factly, rolling the snowball in his hands to smooth out the slightly clumped sections. “Now you try.” Reid obliged the young Hotchner and mimicked the same motions; after he finished rolling it to smooth the edges, he held it out in his hands for inspection. Jack shook his head. “It’s too small. Add some more snow.”
Reid did as ordered and started to pack the new snow onto the snowball. “Don’t do it too hard,” Hotch warned, only just a bit late. The snowball broke apart in Reid’s hands, and he stared at the indistinct clumps perplexedly. His gaze shifted to the dark-haired man, however, as Hotch moved closer. He wasn’t expecting Hotch’s hands to gently grip his, and he allowed the other man to put his hands in the snow again. Hotch used Reid’s hands to move the snow into a decent pile before making him cup the pile in his hands, gently packing it together. “The best size is that of a baseball, which is about two-point-nine inches in diameter. Look at it in relation to your hands, and try to get the feel of it.”
The younger man had been far too focused on Hotch’s wind-chapped cheeks and the snowflakes that were trapped in Hotch’s eyelashes, something he hadn’t been able to see until Hotch had moved closer. Reid felt his breath catch as Hotch’s eyes flicked up to his, and he immediately looked down at their hands, doing his best to ignore the sudden pounding of his traitorous heart. “Actually, baseballs typically range from two-point-eighty-six inches to two-point-ninety-four inches in diameter,” Reid remarked. He mentally berated himself almost immediately after when his mind caught up and noted that the measurement Hotch had said was in the middle. “But two-point-nine inches is easier to measure without a ruler handy.” Reid winced as those words registered, and he momentarily wished the ground would spontaneously open and swallow him. Why couldn’t his mouth just stay shut? Lately he’d been saying all sorts of ridiculous things whenever Hotch was even remotely too close to him, and he couldn’t stand it.
Hotch’s lips quirked into a warm smile, and he murmured, “If you say so. Now, once you think you have enough, you just start rolling it, trying to get rid of any idents from your fingers or palms when packing the snow together. Sometimes it’s even somewhat shiny or reflective.” Hotch still hadn’t released his hands and instead started moving them rhythmically, shaping and molding the snowball almost as easily as if he were doing it himself, without the impediment of someone’s hands in the way. “And there you have it. Setting it to the side allows it to stick together better but also typically prevents it from getting too wet and becoming an iceball instead, which is partially why we make piles.”
Reid felt the absence of Hotch’s hands almost acutely when the older man’s hands finally released his. In an effort to distract himself, he set the snowball aside and worked on making another one. It still wasn’t as good as either Hotchner’s, but it earned Jack’s approval, which was good enough for Reid, who continued making more snowballs since Jack had tossed aside his other ones.
“I’ll take first watch,” Jack announced, smiling brightly as he scurried off to a nearby tree that provided him plenty of coverage. Even Reid had a difficult time noticing when the younger Hotchner was peering around to check the yard for the others.
Reid cleared his throat and asked, “What’s the signal?”
Hotch chuckled and dared to look over the wall before answering. “We alternate between several different ones, but today it will be one short whistle, followed by a certain number of taps on the tree. One is to the left, two is straight ahead, and three is to the right. If they’ve somehow made it behind us, we usually just say ‘back’ since the need for urgency is greater. From this vantage point, however, someone behind us means we’ve lost. And then if there’s more than one person, we’ll do more whistles before taps if that person is in the same area as another.”
“You really do take this seriously. I’m not sure I’ll be the best partner for you two,” Reid murmured, his gaze returning to his hands as he worked on smoothing the snowball.
Hotch was silent, and momentarily Reid wondered if perhaps the Unit Chief hadn't heard him. Then a gloved hand plucked the snowball from his, causing him to look up and catch Hotch's dark brown eyes. There was an odd intensity there that made his stomach flip, and he swallowed nervously. "While winning is nice, it isn't necessary. The most important part is to have fun. I indulge Jack in treating it like a battle because he has more fun that way. Jack chose you as our third person because he thought you might enjoy the spin we put on it. But if that isn't going to be fun for you, then we can pause the game and you can join whichever team you'd like. All I ask is you don't give up our trade secrets."
It was mind boggling how often Hotch had stunned him in the last half hour. The sincerity in Hotch's words caused warmth to bloom in his chest, and he felt his lips curl into a smile. "In that case, I'll stay," he replied softly.
Something shifted in Hotch's eyes, and the older man's gaze moved just slightly, but then came a whistle and one tap, and Hotch was suddenly gone. A breath later Reid heard another whistle and three quick taps, and he grabbed a snowball before turning to peek over the wall in the direction indicated. He saw someone dressed entirely in black running from one tree to another, and after taking a precautionary duck, he popped back up, waiting for a glimpse. The other person gave himself away by checking around the tree, and Reid didn't allow himself to hesitate before throwing the snowball. He laughed triumphantly as it hit the person's shoulder, and he ducked behind the wall again as he heard Morgan shout, "Aw, c'mon!" After a pause, he added, "Watch out! Pretty Boy's got some aim!"
Reid glanced at Hotch when he felt a tap on his arm, and he couldn't help but grin when the other man held his hand up in a fist. Curling his own fingers into one, he bumped his fist against Hotch's just before Jack whistled again. As Hotch moved to check, Reid's mind flashed back to just before the first whistle.
The moment he thought of it, he pushed it away with a shake of his head. He couldn't afford to be distracted if they were going to win, and he was running off a slight high from taking Morgan out. Besides, his mind had to have been playing tricks on him.
There was absolutely no way Hotch had been looking at his mouth.
Hotch honestly couldn't fathom why Reid had thought he wouldn't be an asset to their team. The genius profiler adapted easily to their plans and strategies, almost as if he'd been part of the process of creating them three years ago. It was amazing to watch, even though Hotch was well aware he'd seen Reid do the same thing during cases. There was simply something distinctly different about it in a leisurely setting; Hotch couldn't quite pinpoint what, however.
He was still dwelling on that as he stirred crushed peppermint into his hot cocoa. He glanced up when he felt eyes on him to find hazel eyes watching him curiously. That was something he'd noticed the younger man doing a lot recently, and each time a small part of him preened, happy to be the focus of Reid's attention in pretty much any way.
"You can ask," Hotch suddenly spoke, and he fought against a smile as Reid startled, an absurdly pretty blush coloring his cheeks.
Reid cleared his throat, adjusting the mug in his hands. "How long have you put peppermint in your hot chocolate?"
That wasn't the question the dark-haired man had been expecting, so he covered his surprise by lifting the mug to his lips and taking a test sip, nodding satisfiedly as the warm flavor of chocolate was followed by the refreshing flavor of mint. "Ever since I was a kid. My neighbor, Mrs. Ashlock, would make it for me every day after school during winter. Even as a child I didn't have as much of a sweet tooth as the other kids, so she made it specially for me."
Reid smiled warmly, and Hotch felt his chest grow warm from something other than hot chocolate. "That's really sweet. You must have been her favorite."
"I wouldn't go that far," Hotch murmured, smiling faintly. Reid's expression shifted just enough for him to realize he'd missed his mark at making it sound humorous. "I actually caused a decent amount of trouble as a child. Nothing too bad that would give me some sort of record, but enough to make several neighbors comment that they were worried about how I would turn out."
The other man hummed, accepting the slight change in subject, for which Hotch was grateful. "Imagine how they'd react when they found out you were the Unit Chief of one of the best teams in the BAU."
Hotch chuckled at the imagery that produced because he was fairly certain all of them would be speechless, mouths agape. "If we ever have a case in the area, maybe I'll make a slight detour after it's wrapped."
"We should probably join everyone in the living room before one of them comes looking for us," Reid suggested. "I came back for a refill."
Hotch's brows shot up, though he wasn't sure why he was so surprised. "Already?"
Another pretty blush colored the younger man's face. "Well, since we aren't getting a victory dinner because we had a late lunch before we went outside, I figured this could be my victory drink," Reid answered almost defensively.
Hotch ducked his head to hide his grin, only daring to look at Reid's pouting face after he'd taken a moment to compose himself. "If you want a victory dinner, I can take you and Jack out tomorrow night." The words tumbled from his lips without permission, a fleeting thought that wasn't supposed to be given life.
Hazel eyes widened nearly imperceptibly, and Reid's lips parted to speak when Jack came running into the kitchen. "Uncle Dave said we can't start the movie without you," his son announced.
"What movie?" Hotch hadn't been aware they were discussing watching one.
"How to Train Your Dragon," Jack replied promptly, smiling brightly. "Uncle Dave hasn't seen it, yet."
"I haven't, either," Reid admitted.
Jack's eyes widened, and he was suddenly tugging at Reid's free hand. "You have to see it, Spence!"
"We're coming, Jack. Don't pull so hard on him, please. He has a breakable mug full of hot liquid in his hand," Hotch reprimanded gently. The tugging was exponentially less forceful, and Reid shot him a quick, grateful smile as he followed behind them.
As they entered the living room, Jack let go of Reid's hand and scurried over to an empty seat beside Henry that Hotch was entirely certain was meant for Reid. Both kids fell into a whispered conversation, however, so he let it slide as he took an empty seat beside Dave. It wasn't until Reid slipped into the open space on the other side of him that he glanced around the room, noting that everyone had managed to somehow occupy all the other seats. He caught Prentiss and Garcia glancing in his direction, and he shook his head with a quiet, amused huff. His team never had been good at subtlety, and the current instance was no different. He supposed he should consider himself lucky—if they had spent Christmas together, they would probably have tried some outrageous scheme involving mistletoe.
Hotch shifted into a more comfortable position, pressing his arm against Reid's. The younger man didn't pull away, and Hotch fought the urge to smile. Perhaps his invitation to dinner would actually be answered favorably. He'd have to ask again later. For the moment, however, he was going to enjoy the next hour and a half beside Reid, even with the nervous knots in his stomach.
Sometime during the movie both Jack and Henry had fallen asleep, and after it was over, the adults moved to an adjoining room. Reid had taken a seat near one corner, hoping he would get a moment to recover. He had barely been able to pay attention to the film, and he was currently so tense his muscles ached in several places. He could still smell the gentle, sweet scent of Hotch's cologne, and it was almost maddening.
"We promised Henry we'd let him stay up until midnight," JJ sighed as she sat in one of the chairs beside Reid, pulling him from his thoughts.
"He just needs a nap. It's only seven," the brunette male pointed out. "If he's not up by nine, I don't care to be the bad guy and wake him."
JJ narrowed her eyes and scoffed playfully. "I'm not falling for that again. Last time Henry made every effort every day for nearly two weeks to point out how his Uncle Spence had woken him up when we hadn't."
Reid laughed and held his hands up defensively. "I honestly didn't think he would do that. He's typically very adamant about his sleep."
"I know. It's both a blessing and a curse," the blonde agreed.
Both profilers looked up when they heard music start playing, and Reid furrowed his brows in confusion. Rossi looked around at all his guests and made quick circling motions with his hands. "Well, don't just sit there. You'll only hear this crappy music in my home once a year. If I don't see some dancing, I'm turning it off."
There were several startled laughs, and after a moment of no other movement, Emily suddenly jumped up from her seat and grabbed Rossi's hands before starting dancing exaggeratedly with him. She was soon joined by Morgan and Garcia, followed by Will and JJ. Reid smiled to himself as he watched them, content to stay in his seat.
"You aren't going to dance?"
The suddenness of Hotch's voice startled him, and he glanced up at the dark-haired man who had somehow managed to move from the other side of the room to come stand beside his chair without him noticing. "I... Everyone already has a partner, so I figured I'd wait until someone else was ready to take a break," he answered, proffering a slight smile.
Hotch nodded silently, his gaze shifting to the six adults gathered in the center of the room. Reid watched him for a short moment before turning away, his gaze barely lighting on the others before it was swiveling back to Hotch as the older man commented, "I don't have a partner."
Reid momentarily couldn't believe Hotch was suggesting they dance together, and he couldn't stop the words that filtered past his lips. "Are you asking me to dance?" He sincerely hoped Hotch couldn't detect the hint of hopefulness in his voice.
Dark brown eyes finally settled back on him, and a smile curved Hotch's lips. "That depends entirely on what your answer would be."
"I can think of worse dance partners," Reid replied with a shrug, faking nonchalance when his heart was pounding in anticipation. Hotch moved to stand in front of him, extending a hand and quirking a brow in an almost challenging way. He slipped his hand into the other man's, allowing himself to be pulled up from the chair with a laugh.
Dancing with Hotch proved to be both exhilarating and terrifying as he tried to ignore the way his breath caught in his throat and the way butterflies took flight in his stomach every time their hands brushed together unexpectedly or Hotch flashed a quick smile; those reactions were ridiculous in light of what he knew was simply friendly dancing.
Though there was a small, hopeful part of him that was beginning to think perhaps it wasn't entirely just platonic.
Hotch had come to the conclusion that perhaps feeding Jack and Henry made-from-scratch brownies topped with vanilla gelato hadn't been their best idea. They had made the brownies after they woke both boys, and the notion of brownies had kept the kids from being too irate at being woken. Unfortunately, however, not too long after eating, the running started.
Rossi had, thankfully, had the forethought to put up anything breakable, so Jack and Henry were given fairly free reign of the house. The only place they weren't allowed to run around in was the room all the adults had claimed. So of course it was the one place the two boys tore through as quickly as they could, as if that would keep them from quite breaking the rules.
On their third attempt, Hotch was amused to see Reid catch Henry and start whispering almost conspiratorially to the kid. The blonde glanced at his mother at one point but ended up nodding, and then he was on his way again, catching up to Jack who had been lingering just outside the room. Reid happened to glance Hotch's way, and Hotch left Rossi, Will, and Morgan (who were discussing restoring homes) to join the younger agent just as Garcia, JJ, and Prentiss snuck off. "Where are those three headed?"
"I honestly don't know, and I would like to keep it that way so I can't be charged for being an accessory," Reid answered with a slight quirking of lips.
Hotch felt his own lips curve into a smile in response as he remarked, "Having any knowledge of a possible crime could result in that. Knowing something is about to occur, even if you're not aware of exactly what it may be, is considered illegal if the act being committed is illegal."
Reid shrugged, his hazel eyes practically glowing. "I guess I'll just have to take you down with me, then," the brunette male murmured, grinning when Hotch narrowed his eyes playfully.
He wouldn't object to much if it caused Reid to grin at him like that. "I think all five of us stand a decent chance against Dave," he admitted, relishing the startled laughter that spilled past Reid's lips. "So what did you tell Henry just a few minutes ago?"
"I asked him to try not to run in here while they were playing chase and said if he could do that, we would talk to JJ and Will about him spending the night with me," Reid replied. "Whether or not he'll find that a sufficient reward, however, is to be seen."
"He's a kid; their feelings can change in seconds. If he doesn't want to go tonight, there could be plenty of legitimate reasons. It's quite obvious to the rest of us that Henry adores you, so never doubt that." Hotch remembered having a conversation with Haley about the same thing, although reversed, when Jack was barely a toddler. He had been the only one home when Jack was sick, and the boy had wanted his mom. It had been unsettling but also somewhat expected, and when he'd brought it up to Haley later that evening, she had been sympathetic while still managing to express how his job was the issue. (The next time Jack was sick, however, he'd asked for his dad, and Hotch had felt somewhat validated.)
"I know, Hotch. I wasn't implying that I thought Henry didn't love me. I can't imagine loving anyone more than I love my mom, so of course I understand that Henry will choose his parents over me in most situations," Reid explained with a smile. "It would be like Jack choosing Rossi or Jessica over you. It may happen, but only very rarely."
Hotch deliberated over that for a moment before shaking his head. He appreciated the times when Reid could subtly address a fleeting concern he had, even if he never spoke it aloud. He opened his mouth to respond when Jack and Henry came tearing through the room again, except this time they gave chase around the room rather than straight through it. "Jack," Hotch called out in a warning tone, and his son stopped in his tracks. "What did Uncle Dave and I say about running in here?"
Jack looked notably chagrined, linking his hands together behind his back. "To not do it," he answered quietly.
"Henry!" Reid yelped, drawing Hotch's attention as the young profiler pitched forward slightly, falling off balance. Hotch barely managed to catch the other man, steadying them just as he felt Reid's lips brush against the corner of his mouth. His breath hitched in his throat, and he heard Reid's do the same. The younger man stumbled back, stuttering, "S-sorry."
Hotch yearned to pull Reid into a kiss to show just how unnecessary the apology was, but he caught himself before doing it when he heard two distinct laughs and the sound of retreating feet. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," Reid affirmed, nodding with a shy smile and refusing to meet Hotch's gaze. "We should probably find out where the others disappeared to." The suggestion was barely out of the genius's mouth before he turned and walked away, leaving Hotch to quell his disappointment as he followed at a respectable distance.
Reid knew he was being ridiculous by avoiding Hotch, but he was a jumbled mess of emotions from that semi-kiss, and he was afraid he would do something stupid. Short of Hotch confessing to him, he didn't have enough proof to justify the possibility that the older man harbored feelings for him, and thus he wasn't quite ready to test his theory.
His plan worked until just before midnight, when Hotch cornered him and announced without preamble, "I think we should have a redo of earlier, minus the scheming fake accident by my son and your godson."
"What?" Reid squeaked, his brain immediately recalling the questionable kiss from earlier.
"Apparently Henry and Jack took matters into their own hands because 'the other grown-ups were taking too long,'" Hotch murmured with an undertone of amusement. "And when they found out their plan didn't work, either, they were quite put out."
Reid wasn't certain how to reply to that, and his brain short-circuited as a warm hand cupped his jaw. His eyes snapped to Hotch's and held the older man's gaze, going almost cross-eyed as Hotch's face drew closer.
"I need your permission," Hotch rumbled softly, his thumb tracing Reid's lower lip and leaving it tingling.
"Please," Reid breathed, sounding strangled even to his own ears, and a moment later warm lips were brushing lightly over his own. He swore his heart stopped before restarting, his pulse racing and pounding so hard he felt it in his ears. He leaned in to press their lips more firmly together, his hands fisting in Hotch's shirt as he felt the older man smile against his mouth.
Hotch pulled back before Reid was ready, whispering, "Happy New Year." Reid was vaguely aware of the others in the room cheering, as well as the cheers on the television, which featured the ball dropping in Times Square in New York.
"Happy New Year," Reid agreed before kissing Hotch again, enjoying the way his heart turned over as Hotch chuckled. The year was definitely off to a much better start than the last.
|
It was safe to say that Cloud refused to listen to Reno ever again in regards to a magic-user tampering with the Lifestream. It'd ended painfully for the blonde and he had no idea whether they'd even taken down the being thanks to that damn redhead pissing off the woman, who for some unknown reason turned her attack to HIM rather than that idiot.
And after that attack, Cloud had found himself in some unknown place, drastically shorter than he had previously been while unable to stand on two legs. Not only that, but he couldn't speak to convey how frustrating his situation had become upon returning to consciousness... in the form a small creamy blonde cat.
That redhead would die by his hands if he ever saw him again. If he couldn't kill him in human form then he would damn well try to scratch his eyes out in this one.
He'd avoided as many people as possible while wandering around on his four legs, having had difficulty at first when trying to walk, but after a few hours, he'd gotten the hang of the appearance without much hassle, having trained himself through the pain-in-the-ass situation. It'd taken that long just to figure out how to run and climb so that he could actually avoid the excited petting that kids and woman thought he would enjoy.
Sighing softly, he tiredly and exasperatedly curled up further on the wooden dock he had appeared close to upon arriving, lying casually while enjoying the warmth of the sun on his irritatingly smaller body. The circumstance felt almost as if his world were playing a prank on him, teasing and taunting him for something he did that he couldn't recall. It hadn't been at all funny and this form made it hard to sustain himself. Water, he hadn't had that much of an issue finding. Food on the other hand...
Heavy footsteps drew him from his unhelpful thoughts, each thump vibrating the boards he lay on until they stopped only a couple of feet away.
"Hey, buddy," lifting his smaller and fluffy head, bright blue, Mako eyes met a darker blue pair, much softer in appearance and framed by black, almost a darker shade of silver, velvety bangs, "What's up? Taking a little stroll?" the stranger asked, Cloud not feeling the need to move after tiring himself out that day by running around. He simply stared up at him, his tail absentmindedly swaying along the wooden boards behind him, "How come you're all alone?" being instantly reminded of that idiot, he meowed lightly, a sort of soft grumble.
"You must be hungry," not that he had actually said anything or did anything that indicated towards that, the thought hadn't been unwelcomed, drawing another, gentler, meow from him, his stomach gurgling some, "Yeah, that's what I thought," the man chuckled softly, the feline watching interestedly as he moved to a crouch, ready to stand, "Hold on a sec, I'll find you something," the stranger with the tender smile informed, Cloud feeling a tad thrown by the kindness. And it hadn't been at all in favour of petting him, a sort of 'I'll get you this if you let me pet you' kind of scenario.
"Guys, gotta come up with some cat food," the raven-haired man mentioned to his group as he stood to full height, the soldier then noticing the three others behind him, having watched the interaction unfold.
"Could always buy some," the incredibly large, deep-voiced man suggested casually, seemingly disinterested by the urge to get him something to eat but willing to go along with it.
"Or we could fish for some," the smallest and gangliest of the four spoke up, his tone having a hint of 'I really want to do this' slipping into it.
"Excellent idea, let's go," the accent had him pausing, Cloud immediately picking up on it the moment he'd spoken. It'd drawn his attention and the soldier simply watched him for a few long, lingering seconds.
Cloud had only stopped when he'd noticed the four lining up along the railings of the dock, the ravenette being careful to not step on him as he stood alongside his comrades. Eyeing them in curiosity, it'd only then dawned on him that they were, in fact, fishing, it being affirmed when fishing rods appeared out of thin air, materializing in hand.
Staring in utter surprise and pure interest, he gradually raised from where he had been lying, turning around and gracefully vaulting up onto the upper half of the railing beside the one that had first greeted him.
"Looks like you made a friend, Noct," the blonde of the four cheered, a sort of childish air about him reminding Cloud of Yuffie but only a few years older in mental age.
"Hi there," Noct smiled softly at him while the feline stood with perfect balance, slinking just slightly closer to the strangers with his eyes on the grip of the rod in the ravenette's hands. He lowered himself, body stable on the fencing as he relaxed there.
As kind as they were for attempting to fish him some food, his focus was on the abilities he had just witnessed, how the tools appeared from nothing. Though his stomach decided to attempt a redirection of his attention, grumbling in hunger and drawing a chuckle from the young man.
"We're trying," he reassured, Clouds' eyes flicking upwards towards the gentle yet striking face just in time to see the hand reaching out, the soldier having to bear with the fingers that brushed and scruffed the fur on his head and neck, his ears evening out slightly in a sort of flat stare kind of expression.
"Is it just me or does he seem grumpy to you?" the deep-voiced man spoke up, Cloud noting the stare he received from him, almost glaring back like the soldier cat was giving it to him directly. It was almost amusing.
"Aren't all cats like that? It's why I'm a dog person," the blonde countered and somewhat boasted as he began reeling in something that had caught his line only to lose it as fast as it'd got caught.
"Maybe he's just that hungry," the stranger closest to him voiced, the hand lowering to his cheek and chin where a finger scratched some, "Are you?" he'd been about to humour them by meowing but it'd been cut short of being sounded by a sudden vibration bubbling in his throat, Cloud absentmindedly leaning against the finger rubbing his chin and neck.
He only then realized that he was PURRING while being petted.
A soft and deep meow slurring through his bubbling throat, Cloud's eyes closed as the hand dug in some, massaging his skin and turning the soldiers mind foggy with this weird feline high. He went as far as to push back against the hand, tilting his head the other way so that the other side got the same treatment.
"I got something!" that same deep voice spoke up, a tad louder and drawing all attention. The soldier's ears perked at the call-out, disappointment begrudgingly evident as the hand paused in what it'd been doing. Though thankfully, that meant he could have his concentration returned to him and stop with the purring. He wasn't really a cat! Despite his current appearance!
Watching as the large man reeled in whatever had gotten caught on his fishing rod, Cloud felt anticipation, the three others seeming to be just as fixated as they focused on him as well. The excitement grew between each of them, some laughter coming from the giant of the group as it got closer and closer and was eventually lifted from the water, being swiftly drawn up above the railings.
"Look at this guy!" the darker man cheered, pulling it up over onto the dock so that it wouldn't land in the water if it came loose from its wiggling and squirming. Regardless of it not being cooked, Cloud was legitimately alright with it, wanting to finally fill his grumbling, empty stomach.
"That'll keep him from going hungry, huh!?" the blonde of the group beam, heavily dropping against the railing and unintentionally shaking it from the weight-. The impact abruptly threw his stability out the window, Cloud's balance tipping drastically!
He shook on the fence and toppled to the side with the water, 'Shit!' snapping from his lips in a sharp mewl as he saw the water coming fast as he fell. His eyes snapped shut and he waited, fully aware that he couldn't swim in this form, he hadn't even tried yet! Nor had he considered attempting!
"I got you!" he heard just as he'd felt something wrap around his upper mid-section, sturdy and warm with a solid hold on him. His eyes blinking open after realizing that he wasn't falling anymore, he glanced down as he was being lifted between the railings, noting the strong hands holding him.
"Crap! I'm sorry!" the blonde whined from somewhere behind him as he was cuddled back against a warm chest, Cloud glancing up as he was cradled to see the ravenette, Noct, had caught him. He was being gazed at and comforted, the hand that wasn't under him threading through the fur of his face, neck and chest. And there came that intoxicating massage again, the soldier leaning into the touch.
"You okay, little guy?" the man cooed, a small, soft smile spreading over his tender features. He meowed automatically, having not really thought about it and continued to enjoy the petting. He debated on taking back what he had originally thought about petting, but considered that maybe it just depended on which hands that he let touch him. Because these ones he didn't mind at all.
"He's not hurt, is he?" at the all too familiar voice, Cloud snapped his head around to stare over the ravenettes' shoulder, eyes narrowing to a glare when he the redhead he currently wanted to murder.
"Who're you?" the one holding him asked calmly, the soldier noting that everyone's attention was on the Turk, though the redhead didn't seem all that bothered by the stares.
"My name's Reno," he greeted with a smirk, coming off as friendly as he possibly could, but then Cloud could see his nervous discomfort itching at the base-layer of skin under that loose and informally worn suit, "And that bundle of evil you're cuddling-," he gestured to the soldier, "-is Cloud. I've been looking after him for a friend," the man lied, making it sound otherwise all too easily.
"Cloud, huh?" the man holding him had decided to focus on his name rather than anything else that had been said, the blonde glancing up at him as the ravenette glanced down, going about petting him again and even drawing more deep purrs from him, "Doesn't seem so evil to me,"
"Trust me, given the chance of being human, he'd try to kill me," and wasn't that the truth, "I'd ask if you want him, but I'm pretty sure that the lady that owns him would kill me to death if she found out I handed him off to someone," if he were referring to Tifa, then he would be completely correct in that statement.
"Prompto, mind getting a paper plate for the fish?" the biggest guy requested, the other blonde bouncing away rather animatedly to go and get what was asked. Cloud was still getting his treatment, far more relaxed than he'd been in a long time.
"Fish?" Reno asked with a red brow quirked, seeming lost on what was going on. Not surprising, since he hadn't been around until then. He'd give him an earful after he scratched his eyes out.
"Yeah, he was hungry. Haven't you fed him?" Noct spoke up, still rubbing his fingers through his incredibly soft and silky chest fur, Clouds' arms spread so that his fingers could roam and massage.
"He had breakfast," he couldn't finish all of it because of the idiots' insistence that they get the job done before Rufus got irritated. He'd been planning to eat when he returned.
"Here," lazily opening his Mako blue eyes, Cloud saw the other blonde return with a plate and a smile, holding it out to the larger man. Said stranger put the fish on the plate, unhooking it from his line before he reached over and set it on the ground ahead of the man holding him, who gradually lowered to a kneel.
"Here you go, buddy," he cooed as he set him down on all fours, brushing his fingers and palm along his lean and soft body. Although disappointed by the lack of petting, the soldier sniffed at the fish and swiftly began nibbling at it, ignoring the fact that it was raw fish and he hadn't actually been a fan of sushi before.
"Cloud suits you," the ravenette comment from above him, still kneeling over him and Cloud gave a sort of meow with a mouthful, attempting to show that he had heard him.
"We should get going, that reporter is probably gettin' antsy," the one with the accent muttered, reminding the group by the tone he had used. More disappointment ebbed at him after noting that they would be leaving him alone.
"Yeah," it wasn't only him that was dissatisfied, the black-haired stranger sounded the same, "See ya around," the man muttered with a clear pout to his tone as he brushed his body a few more times, Cloud lifting his head from the fish to gaze up at him as the man stood and reluctantly stepped away.
"Later, kitty!" the blonde kid waved comically as the group gradually left them, he and the redhead watching them until they were out of earshot.
"Before you say anything!-" the Turk snapped in a whisper, suddenly crouched directly in front of him, "-I didn't actually expect her to attack you when I pissed her off," he growled quietly, the two sharing a scowl before Cloud literally hissed at him in an exaggerated catlike manner, "Don't you hiss at me!"
|
Cersei V
She stormed inside her brother's solar, screaming and raging, Grand Maester Pycelle at her side as he entered after her.
Tyrion - whom their father had sent to Kings Landing to take care of the proceedings as he and her brother fought with her husband - turned around and watched her with his mismatched eyes.
"Can I help you, sister?" He asked.
His condescending tone sent her spiralling as she upturned the objects on his desk, making them fly in all directions as she pointed an accusing finger at him.
"
Help?
- she shrieked -
Help
he says. If you want to help me you should hang yourself and let me be done with your ugly face!"
"You are particularly despondent today - Tyrion commented pouring two cups of wine, he sent a glance towards the Maester and returned to her - I suppose this means you have learned of Father's plans for Myrcella."
"Father's? - she questioned- oh no, there is
your
mark all over this."
"I am incredibly touched that you think me genius enough to think I could outsmart our father and get away with it too" he commented producing a parchment and offering it to her "But I am afraid I should disappoint you, yet again sister, for our father is the mastermind behind this plan."
She snatched the parchment from his hand and did read her Father's statement.
In a moment of disapproval she just tore it apart as if it meant nothing at all and looked at her brother dead in the eyes.
"Your husband the King- Tyrion added - is in accord with our father on this. It is a match that could greatly better our situation."
"My husband sent my son, my first born son and his heir on a mission with treacherous soldiers that betrayed him and let him get capture by his cheating uncle." She snapped "I have no faith whatsoever on his judgment calls. He should bother with win this
rebellion
- she spat - not bothering with matching my daughter with someone not worthy of her!"
"This match - he told her slowly as if he was talking with a fool - will help us win the rebellion."
She snorted "Is my husband so unable that he cannot win the war without the help of my daughter?"
"It's
his
daughter too, Cersei - she sent him a scathing glance as to signal that he knew better but said nothing - and he, as her father, can wed her to whom he damn well please especially when her marriage could help the war along."
"Twenty years ago Robert would have won blind this kind of war. Against
children
."
"Those
children
- he told her - are extremely intelligent. Robb Stark has yet to lose a battle and he is aided by his uncle the Black Fish, and they have
dragons
, Cersei. We should count our blessings that someone still considers Myrcella a valuable match for their son with the way this war could go."
"I will not send my daughter to the Vale. It is out of question - she snapped - she will stay by my side where she is safe."
"I admire your loyalty to your children, Cersei, I do. But you must understand in war everyone must make concessions. You married Robert though he was not the man you loved for our family and Myrcella may grow to love her husband in time. I am being told that young Lord Arryn is kind of disposition."
"He still sucks at his mother's breast! And he is almost ten!" she shrieked "you should work on rescuing my son instead of selling my daughter!"
"Your son is in Sunspear now, Cersei. - he told her - and everything we can do to rescue him we are
already
doing."
She let herself fall seated suddenly less inflamed that she was mere moments ago, the tears threatening to fall from her emerald eyes.
He offered her the coup "We can only hope the Targaryens are better jailers than we were to Ned Stark." he offered un-helpfully.
Cersei inflamed again she knocked the coup from his hand and sent it flying in the nearest wall, its red liquid pouring out of it. Tyrion sent her an astounded glare.
She
knew
that her son would be lost. If she was them she would execute him for repayment for the way Ned Stark had been brutally executed by Robert.
She had told him to wait. But the sting of the betrayal had been too strong for him to listen to her.
If that was not enough the Targaryen wolfbitch was pregnant.
Another
claimant to the Iron throne, to
her son's
throne.
If she could she would wrap her hands around the girl's ivory neck and strangle her slowly to death, hers and of her spawn. Strangle her until she was blue in the face with violet lips to go with her dark purple eyes.
Thrice damned to the Gods her and her spawn.
"They have to die - Tyrion inclined a head to the side questioning - mother and child both."
"Even if" he told her "the Targaryen boy married his aunt too. He could have a child from her yet."
Cersei bristled "All of them. Dead. All of them!" she exclaimed "and my son in his rightful place by the throne."
Tyrion signaled for the Grand Maester to leave and when the door closed behind him and turned his gaze on her "The Vale is strategically important and they have yet to openly back one side or the other. Many knights and lords of the Vale have fought the rebellion side by side with Robert. I don't think they will side with the dragons."
"You don't
think
?" She snarled "if they have dragons we should first kill those damned
beasts
and
then
think of marrying the only princess of the realm to a Lord who is not worthy of her."
"And who is, Cersei? Who better than the next Warden of the East? Especially with the Wardens of the South and West off limits."
Cersei pursed her lips.
"I won't send her from my side."
"It is not up to you, Cersei."
"
I am the Queen!"
She shrieked.
"You are
a
queen. As it happens there are three queens around now. And you are the only one without dragons." He told her smartly "and not even a queen can oppose to the will of her husband the King."
"You think you are so smart, don't you?" She seethed. He shrugged as if to say
well now that you mention it
, she stood up and walked to him menacingly, towering over him "I may not be able to keep her in Kings Landing - she whispered- but I will burn our House to the ground before I let anyone hurt her or my sons. And you,
you will be first
."
He looked at her astounded as she whipped around and left his solar in long strides, the golden hues of her ruby red gown sparkling in the candle light.
Golden their crown, golden their shrouds
, she fisted the fabric of her gown.
Over my dead body, wench.
|
James reached for Severina only to feel cold empty sheets beneath his fingertips. He clutched his hand around them and felt the clenching pain of loss rise and swell to his throat. He pulled her pillow to his chest and wondered how many more times he could weep before his heart simply gave up on him.
Her absence was like a gaping hole in the middle of his chest. Like a phantom limb, his soul tried to pulse with life only to find it missed a vital piece of itself. James could not imagine a pain greater than this.
He hated that bastard. Hated him for stealing her away, but as much as he hated Tom Riddle, he hated himself a thousand times more. He failed her again. He wasn’t there when she needed him. Getting drunk over a Quidditch match, a fucking Quidditch match! He should’ve been there!
The Aurors had one lead the morning after she was taken. A Diagon Alley shop keeper who lived above her shop had heard some commotion in the Alley and looked out her window. The shop keeper said she saw a wizard and a witch grappling over a wand, the witch looked to be wearing Hogwart robes and they both had dark hair, but that was the extent of description she was able to give. She said they disapparated out quickly and it had only been a glimpse. The reason she called the Aurors and the reason James woke up most nights was that the witness said she could clearly see the wizard’s hand around the witch’s neck.
James choked on air, sobbing. Was she okay? Was he hurting her? Oh, gods… was he? What if he was…
The door to his room creaked open and the soft light of a lumos filled the doorway.
“James?” Remus asked softly. The Lupins came to stay the summer with the Potters and Remus would listen to James cry himself to sleep and then wake up and cry again. During the day James would be single-minded and focused on getting Severina back but when at the end of every day she was still gone, James fell into despair. Remus’s heart broke for him.
James sat up on his bed but only whimpered pitifully in answer to his friend. Tears still filled his eyes and he hurt too much to open them, but he felt the bed next to him give under the other’s weight and an arm wrap around his shoulders.
Remus spoke with tears in his voice, “I cast a privacy charm.’ He squeezed his shoulders, ‘just let it out, James.”
Permission to cry and ironically all it did was calm him. He wished he could. He wished he could let it out and be better, but the problem with crying and the problem with this whole situation was that Severina was gone and He had her!
“Remus, what if he’s… what if he’s forcing himself on her? What if he’s torturing her or I don’t know… I don’t know… I just can’t stop thinking about all these horrible things. Every night, I can’t sleep because every time I close my eyes my mind runs through all the worse possible things he could be doing to her.’
James clutched his head, “No one has seen her since the first morning she’d been missing. The shop keeper… she said she saw a man with his hand around a Slytherin student’s neck. She was fighting him, she was trying to get away. What if he’s hurting her?”
“Why would he take her just to hurt her?” Remus asked wondering at the possibility himself.
“Because she said ‘no’ to him, because she rejected him? It would have been more merciful had he killed us both at the wedding rather than this. Remus, it hurts. I can’t explain it… It feels like he ripped my heart out and it keeps trying to beat but instead of life, it pumps… pain. It’s been torture every day since she’s been gone. Do you think she’s suffering like this too?”
Remus was silent for a moment before he answered, “Severina is excellent at occlumency. I think she’s already further along than many could achieve in a lifetime. I’m sure she feels just the same, but maybe she can shield herself from it better. Do you… can you tell… that is… would you know if she’s… if she’s still alive?”
James swallowed and shook the possibility from his mind, “If she wasn’t, I think I’d just feel empty. It’s more like I feel strained. Like I’m being stretched further than I can bear. I feel restless and useless and it’s driving me mad.”
“I know James. She’s part of our pack and I wish there was something I could do. Lily is working with Slughorn over the summer to get whatever information it is Dumbledore wants her to get from him. Sirius and Regulus are trying to find out everything they can from their parents and other Death Eater families. Sirius said they’ve even been able to recruit those Slytherin girls that would always follow Sev around. You and I are searching… waiting, but when it’s time to act, we’ll be ready.”
James got up and squeezed Remus’s shoulder in gratitude.
“We are going to get her back. Whatever it takes, right James? That’s what you said.” Remus tried again.
James nodded. Yes, whatever it took, but he didn’t know where to start…
“We just need to trust, Dumbledore. He has a plan.”
James’s spine stiffened.
Dumbledore’s plan…
Dumbledore’s plan was to send his friends on little missions with only vague explanations. Dumbledore’s plan was to win a war and to use Potter gold to fund it. Not that he or his parents put up any fight, they would give up their whole vault if it meant getting Severina back.
Trust Dumbledore…
“I will help you fight, James. I will help you get her back, but you have to trust me.”
“I’m going for a run,” James announced.
“James…” Remus called out with concern but James shot him a pleading look. Remus sighed and nodded, “Okay.”
James made his way outside. As soon as the summer night touched his skin and his feet landed on grass, he shifted and his hooves carried him away aimlessly. He ran until the air paled with sunlight, then he slowed.
His muscles burned with the strain of exercise and his lungs stung with damp cold air. He made to turn and make his way back home when his eyes caught a figure lying in a small patch of grass under a tree. The summer fawn saw him too and blinked at him. It was waiting for its mother to return.
Waiting…
James lowered himself into the grass and watched over the fawn, waiting.
What if she doesn’t come back? James thought, What if she’s in mortal danger? What if you’re left alone and you never know why?
Looking into the fawn’s eyes, it was calm and unmoved, simply staring back at the strange stag that wasn’t really a stag at all. It wasn’t a voice at all that answered James’s questions— it was an understanding, it was pure emotion: hope.
She’ll come back. She’ll always come back because she loves me. Waiting is easy when you can trust love and hope.
Trust.
Not Dumbledore, but Severina. He could trust Severina. He could trust their love; that their love would transcend circumstance and distance.
”I can take care of myself.” He heard the memory of her voice.
”I just want to protect you… I need to,” he had said.
”As long as you know you don’t have to.”
Severina was a survivor. She was cunning and intelligent enough to get through this. He was never so glad she was a Slytherin then at this moment. They would get her back, but Severina wasn’t some damsel in distress waiting for a hero to save her.
They were like Hadrian and Isolda. All Hadrian did was be faithful in his love and wait. Isolda was the one who saved Hadrian from a life of lonely poverty and gave him love and a family.
The sky warmed and the fawn drifted to sleep. As James watched the fawn sleeping peacefully he remembered another part of the legend… Hadrian had dreamed of Isolda. James hadn’t been able to sleep well enough to dream since Severina had been taken. Maybe… What if…?
The doe appeared and glanced at James laying in the grass a little ways away from her fawn. She looked at him curiously but didn’t seem overly bothered by his presence. She turned to her babe and nuzzled him awake. She helped her fawn steadying himself on sleepy legs. As the two left, the fawn glanced back at James just before it took to prancing around its mother, as if to say, See! I told you so! I told you she would come back for me.
James huffed amused, Of course she did, little one. She loves you. James stood and turned home, ready now to wait.
Trixie greeted him with wide worried eyes and informed him of breakfast. James gave her a little smile and thanked her. Trixie brightened immediately. Hope is contagious, James thought.
His parents and the Lupins were all in the dining room but no one was eating. Instead, they all looked a little agitated. His mother’s expression sighed in relief when she saw him.
“Oh, Jaime! Thank goodness you’re home. We were so worried.” Her nose wrinkled a bit when she got near, but a mother’s hug couldn’t be deterred by body odor, apparently. James hugged her gently even as she squeezed him with more strength than one would assume the older witch capable of.
“James,” his father sighed, “I understand you wanted to get away for a bit, but you really worried us. We are already missing one family member.”
“Sorry, Dad. You don’t have to worry about that. You-Know-Who doesn’t want me.”
The statement clouded the room thick with hidden questions and one pervading: What does he want with Severina?
Jame tucked into breakfast, properly hungry for the first time since Severina was taken. The others followed his lead. He smiled encouragingly at everyone and they responded with a slight relaxing of their shoulders. It reminded him of something Severina had said to him once,
”You’re a natural leader, James. The Marauders follow you like you have them all on these invisible strings and when you move, they move. They might question you or make suggestions but whatever you decide, they all follow. It was one of the reasons I was both attracted to you and resented you.
”You don’t follow me like that though.” He had said with a furrowed brow.
She suppressed a self-deprecating groan, ”Yes I do, James, or at least I’m not unaffected. Which is why I resent it sometimes. I don’t want to need anyone but myself.”
”Well, I need you. You have me completely wrapped around your fingers,’ James said and brought her fingers to his lips and pressed kisses to her smooth knuckles until he reached her promise ring and brushed over it with his thumb, “and we belong together.”
She laughed and blushed at the look in his eye, “and woe be any who try to separate us?”
”Definitely,” he laughed and pulled her into a kiss.
James felt people watching him and realized he had been smiling which probably seemed a bit out of place at present.
“Severina’s a survivor.’ James said, “No matter what, she’ll find a way home. We just need to help her find her way back.”
The energy of the room lighten at his words and James turned to his father after scarfing down his toast, beans, mushrooms, and tomatoes, but leaving the eggs, bacon, and sausage alone. He just couldn’t stomach meat after having been in his animagus form so recently.
“Dad is there a potion that could help me remember my dreams? Or be awake for my dreams?”
“Like a lucid dream?” His father asked.
“Yeah, exactly.”
He thought a moment but then said, “No, I’m afraid there’s not. There is dreamless sleep, of course. I suppose, generally, people don’t care so much about exploring their dreams too much. Why do you ask?”
“I was just curious. Thought maybe my subconscious had a clue to helping Sev.”
Remus laughed softly and everyone looked at him curiously. He shifted in his seat, “I was only thinking that if Severina were here, she would try to invent one for you.”
The Potters smiled sadly and Mr. Potter said, “She would succeed too. Well, I’ll look into it son, but I’m afraid that even in my prime I did not have the knack for complicated potions the way our Severina has. Creating a hair tonic is afar cry from assisting with a wolfsbane potion.”
“I’m sure you would do great, Dad. It was just an idea.”
Mr. Lupin cleared his throat after a sip of tea, “Do you boys remember when you all asked about Tom Riddle?”
James and Remus perked up. “You said he might have been a few years older than you at Hogwarts,” Remus said.
“Yes, well I did some digging and I had found his name mentioned in a most extraordinary case where a house-elf was convicted of murdering her Mistress, a Hepzibah Smith."
Mrs. Potter gasped, “A house-elf? No.”
Mr. Lupin nodded, “Yes that was the result of the investigation, however, it does seem strange… Tom Riddle had worked at Borgin and Burkes at the time and Miss Smith had frequented the establishment. After her murder, he simply vanished.”
“And no one suspected him? They condemned the elf instead?” Mrs. Lupin asked her husband in disbelief.
Mr. Lupin sighed, “The house-elf confessed, but you must understand, my dear, it is not unlike a house-elf to blame itself… the house-elf most likely belief she had killed her Mistress. As for Riddle, everyone who knew him testified that he was incapable of murder. No one has testified to having heard or seen Riddle since and was generally believed that he also may have been a victim in the case.”
James met Remus’s eyes.
Mr. Lupin continued, “Another oddity about the case, was that, even after determining the house-elf responsible, Smith’s missing items never turned up.”
James’s attention snapped back to Mr. Lupin, “What items?”
Mr. Lupin squinted in thought, “A cup and a locket. Seems very random, doesn’t it? How could a cup and locket be worth the cost of a life?”
Mrs. Potter looked to her son with tears building in her eyes and her hands trembling, “And this is the man you believe to be… You-Know-Who? This is the man who has our Severina?” And her trembling fingers flew to her lips to catch her pained gasp. Her husband wrapped his arm around his wife and tried to comfort her.
James felt dizzy for a moment and stood suddenly. “That’s the man who Severina is going to outsmart. She’ll be home soon, don’t worry Mum. Severina will do whatever it takes and then she’ll come home.”
———
Severina paced her prison helplessly. It was a very comfortable prison, with a bedroom, adjoining bathroom, and a little sitting room with a writing desk and a bookshelf filled with texts on alchemy, potions, and the dark arts. The only person she ever saw was him. The rooms were warded to be without doors or windows, but a door would appear and always in a new place before he would walk through.
The clock on the wall ticked, a quarter past five in the morning. At six o’clock a little table of food would appear for her possibly by a house-elf who would not show itself. Sometimes he joined her— Tom Riddle.
Riddle… She had been able to find him in the student archives in the Hogwarts Library after the Christmas hols. Slytherin Prefect and then Head boy. Four years older than her own mother, three years older than Lyall Lupin and Orion Black, a year older than Walburga Black but two years younger than Abraxas Malfoy—they would have known him in school. They would know his name… Riddle was not a pureblood name that she was familiar with and hadn’t found it in any of the genealogies she had found. If he wasn’t pureblood… How had he amassed a radical group of blood purists? How did he change his name, collect a following, and turn Wizarding Britain into a dichotomy of Light and Dark?
The first time they met, he said that it wasn’t as simple as light and dark or good and evil. What had he meant? Maybe he hadn’t meant it at all. Maybe he had simply said what he thought would entice her to join his side.
He was full of contradictions. Even in his letters. Sometimes it seemed like he could be more than one person at any given time. He didn’t make sense and Severina was starting to wonder if it was an exercise in futility to even try to make sense of him.
The door appeared and damn it…
“Ah, you are awake. It is good that you are an early riser, I abhor laziness.” He said with a pleasant smile.
Seven o’clock and a table with two settings this morning. He pulled out a chair for her. Severina watched his hands gripping the chair. She could still remember his hand around her neck and the cruelty in his voice as he hissed crucio. She could still remember the pain as if the magic of the curse was trying to rip her apart from the inside out and skin her alive. Now, he stood genially offering her a seat and company for breakfast— kippers, and toast this morning.
She sat. “Thank you,” she murmured and tried not to let her voice crack. She lay her napkin on her lap and watched him settle in his seat. He regarded her with an expression of approval. He liked these little niceties today. It was hard to tell who would walk in to see her. He always wore the same face, but behind the facade, it was hard to tell who he really was.
“Did you sleep well, my dear?"
“I slept as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”
His jaw ticked. He held her eyes and she felt him against her walls. He sighed and then chuckled, “You know, I don’t find myself saying this often, but I cannot read your mind. It pleases me that you have taken to occlumency so quickly, but tell me, my dear Severina, what is on your mind this morning?”
Severina focused on her breakfast and deflected, “I was thinking about the passage of time. It seems to be getting away from me lately. Time isn’t running consistently anymore or at least my perception of time. I knew what time breakfast would come and yet I was surprised when it came.”
He chuckled around his bite. “I understand completely,” he said once he’d swallowed. “I often lose track of time when engrossed in a new topic of study. Have you found Nicholas Flamel interesting?”
She forced herself to swallow her food, “Yes and no. The biography is frustratingly vague,” she paused but he watched her expectantly.
He was in a mood to be patient this morning.
She took a cleansing sip of tea, feeling a little annoyed with his psychological games, “You want me to create a Philosopher’s Stone. Of course, that has been a primary purpose of alchemy since the beginning of alchemy, as far as I can tell. Nicholas Flamel is the only recorded creator of a Philosopher's Stone and personally, I think it very likely that Nicholas Flamel is a fraud.”
At that he chuckled from the back of his throat, “And why is that?” He asked, amused.
“Well, if he’s not a fraud then he’s a perfectly useless individual. To hoard such a thing as the Philosopher’s Stone and do considerably little with it? Alchemy, though interesting, is impractical if the Philosopher’s Stone could be created by such a man. The book speaks of philanthropy and his part in ending the war with Grindelwald, but six centuries he claims to have lived, and yet he barely scraped the potential a wizard could accomplish in such a span of time. Grindelwald and yourself accomplished infinitely more in a fraction of the time the Flamels claim to have lived.’
She continued, “It took him a lifetime to create and he’s old and feeble. He can keep his wife and himself alive and with as much gold as he could ever need and want, but to do what? To go senile and frail with age? Why doesn’t the Elixir of Life heal age? Isn’t the Elixir of Life the achievement of Panacea? Why would a cure-all not cure aging?’
He was smirking at her and watching her curiously. Severina shifted uncomfortably and tried not to show how uneasy he made her.
“Flamel must either be a great fool and a useless individual, or he is an accomplished conman. I would believe more, that he is simply an old man who took the name of a 14th-century wizard and claimed himself to be that wizard. Rather than a great alchemist who created a Philosopher’s Stone, but not use it to its full purported advantages.’
“He also has at least two more strikes against him, one that he is friends with Albus Dumbledore and two,’ she lifted her tea to her lips with a small smirk, ‘he’s French.”
The Dark Lord laughed. He laughed so hard he propped his elbow on the table and rested his head in his hand as his shoulders shook with laughter. His laughter was strange to her ears. Not that she hadn’t heard it before, but that it didn’t seem to fit him. His laughter was high and rough, more like a cackle. It was a frightening laugh.
Once his laughter subsided, he chuckled a little and said, “Very good. I do admit, I also believed the same when I first took it upon myself to look into alchemy. It is not an ideal solution to that pesky obstacle of ambition and it is certainly not the only solution, but it would be a lovely plan B. There is evidence enough to suggest he is not a fraud and that he does indeed possess the Philosopher’s Stone.’
He waved his hand with a flourish toward her writing desk and another two books appeared, “You’ll be reading The Book of Abramelin next. One is the original text and one the translation— my own. Do let me know what you think.”
With that he rose from his seat and came round to help her out of hers. The table and breakfast vanished and the Dark Lord lifted her hand to kiss her knuckles. Severina tried not to flinch and he smirked a little.
A door appeared and she waited for him to leave but just before he left, he turned back to look at her.
“It’s been a pleasure, Miss Snape. I’m afraid that my attention is required elsewhere today.”
He stepped away from the door, leaving it open into a hallway. He teased her with the open door, she thought. She forced her eyes away from the door to watch his approach. He held her eyes and his expression was unreadable. He hadn’t hurt her since that day, she had to remind herself. Still, it didn’t mean he couldn’t. He was unpredictable and she could never be safe while he was near. Not safe from him.
“Try to miss me a little,” he said and bent his face to her cheek and pressed his lips into her skin.
Her eyes sought the open door again. Was he playing with her, like a cat with a mouse, loosening its grip and teasing its prey with the hope of escape only to snatch it back with its deadly claws? Would she exhaust herself to the point of limp death in his hands? Or was he linking himself with freedom, manipulating her to miss him like she missed the open door until she forgot why she wanted to be free? If that’s what he was hoping, he didn’t understand… He couldn’t possibly understand what she and James had, what they were to each other.
She leaned into his kiss a little as he started to pull away. It was him this time fighting not to flinch and she suppressed her smirk.
“You will not be gone long, I hope.” She asked demurely, fluttering her eyelashes a little and feigning a high sickly sweet voice.
He examined her face and her breath stopped when she saw his hand reach for her. He stroked her jaw with his fingertips, trailing the sensation of touch to her chin and she tried not to jerk away.
He chuckled, “You have a lot to learn about seducing a man, Severina.”
Severina rolled her eyes, “I’m trying to make a point. Do you want me to play psychological games with you?” She took a careful step towards him, careful not to touch him but close enough to feel his body’s heat and he, hers. She spoke low and soft, lifting her chin higher to keep eye contact and his fingers fell from her face. “Do you really want me to waste my time learning how to seduce you?” His head tilted to the side examining her from another angle and she stepped away and straightened herself, “or do you want me to be your Alchemist?”
He shook his head, laughing again, but she continued, “I need equipment to work with, ingredients to conduct experiments, not just books to study, and I need my wand.”
His laughter stopped and his face was unreadable. “I’ll think on it,” he said and Severina almost lightened with hope, but then, “for a kiss,” her body stiffened, “just on the cheek, nothing indecent.” His voice was light and teasing, but his eyes were hard as stone.
“You promise,” She asked, “just on the cheek and nothing indecent?”
His face seemed frozen as he stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He nodded once and bowed his head a little for her to reach. She stepped in, quickly press her lips to the hollow of his cheek, and pulled away with an uncomfortable knot in her throat. His jaw clenched.
“No, not like that,” still with his hands behind his back, he leaned forward and rest his cheek against hers, “like this,” he said softly.
His lips barely touched her skin, pressed against her cheekbone, and lingered there until he rolled his face away, waiting for reciprocation. Severina squeezed her eyes closed and tried again, ghosting her lips ever-so-slightly over his cheek until she reached the curve of his cheekbone and pressed a lingering kiss there. He leaned into it fractionally before it was him who pulled away.
His eyes were still hard and unreadable, but he bowed politely. Without another word from either of them, he left her alone, taking the open door with him.
Severina sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands and wept. She filled with loneliness and loss, not for the door or Tom Riddle, but for James. She wept for the part of herself she had to hide and reign in, the part that wanted to break down the wards with her bare hands to get out and get back to James. She could barely sleep at all, awaken by restlessness throughout the night and somehow she knew… she knew James was hurting acutely. Often, she would wake with tears in her eyes and a sob prone in her throat.
“Oh James,” she whimpered and cried until finally, she couldn’t cry anymore. She pulled herself up, cleaned herself off, and shoved away unnecessary emotions. Then she went to her little desk, sat down, and opened the book.
|
October 2014
The launch for the single is packed and raucous. Because Ed came up from nothing, and Harry makes friends like other people make cups of tea, the crowd is a bizarre mix of total nobodies – i.e. not Z-listers, but genuinely not-famous people – and dazzling superstars.
Their collaboration had had everyone wetting their knickers with delight, and that was just the press. Sugarscape swooned, and the NME did its Billy Idol sneer and called them a ‘killer commercial combination’. They were going to be huge. Maybe not as huge as 1D, but still pretty big. Ed had written most of the songs, but their first single was co-written. Nick had the advance taster from the record company, one of hundreds on a mailing list (not from Harry, like he used to, he’d thought mournfully, then he’d pulled himself together). Even though the title and lyrics had given him pause (it was called Hide Your Love and was very obviously a song about coming out) he’d loved it. He wondered whether he’d ever told Harry how much he loved his voice. He was pretty sure he hadn’t. He must have figured several platinum records and arenas full of screaming girls told Harry all he needed to know about his talent. He’d also worried about the song’s lyrics for ages and whether it was the right move, whether the public would be put off, and then he’d realised that Harry’s career was none of his business anymore, if it ever had been.
They wanted to keep the launch as low-key as possible so it’s just in some basement in Soho. Yeah, right, good idea lads, Nick thinks. Ed’s surrounded, Harry’s impossible to get to. Nick gets a drink and goes to find someone else to talk to. After some shouted pleasantries with a few industry bods, he finds Annie at the back. She’s managed to find one of the few chairs in the place and is having an edge-of-the-seat conversation with some kid with a pair of headphones round his neck and a Macbook on his lap. She looks up when he comes over.
‘Hey, babes. Come and meet Alex,’ she says nodding over at her friend. ‘He’s DJ-ing here later. Say something nice. He’s bricking it.’
Nick leans over to shake hands and says, ‘It’s only Harry and Ed.’ He looks around himself theatrically and leans forward. ‘You can play anything and they’ll be impressed.’
‘Harsh words, man,’ says Alex laughing. ‘I feel better already.’ He puts his headphones back on and goes back to the glow of the screen.
‘Budge over,’ Nick says to Annie. ‘Let me rest me tired legs.’
‘No room, mate,’ but she spreads her arms, drink in one hand, and pats her lap with the other. Nick takes her up on her invite, plumping himself down carelessly.
‘Oof, you fat bastard. Have you put on weight?’
‘Dunno.’ Then he coos, ‘Maybe I’m pregnant.’
‘That’d be the immaculate conception, for sure.’
‘Heeeyyy.’
‘Heeeyyy,’ she mimics. Then: ‘Spoken to Harry yet?’
‘Hair’s looking particularly hedgey tonight, darling,’ he evades, sticking a finger through one of her curls. She tells him to fuck off amiably, batting his hand away. He’s glad she’s here.
Later, the crowd thins a bit, and Nick’s thinking of going, but Harry seems to have disappeared. Ed doesn’t know where he is, no-one does. The cloakroom says his stuff’s still there, so he can’t have gone far. Nick could leave. He’s sure Harry would understand, but it feels wrong somehow.
Feels wrong somehow, mocks his subconscious nastily. Nick tells his subconscious to shut. up.
Okay, so he wants to see Harry, because he’s got the feeling he’s not going to get many more chances after this. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling so apocalyptic about it, but he does. Maybe Harry’s text-silence had rattled him more than he wants to admit. He starts poking about: the stalls in the gents; the kitchens (Harry loves nothing better than hanging out with the kitchen staff at showbiz parties); an empty function room upstairs. Nothing. When he gets back down to ground level and rounds a corner, he sees a fire exit at the end of the hallway he hadn’t spotted before, and as he approaches he can see it’s ajar, wedged open with its own panic-bar. Bingo.
He pushes it open gingerly. It scrapes loudly against the concrete floor outside, probably alerting half the local population to his presence and Harry too, if he’s out here. Which he is. Bopping the right toe of his £900 boots against the wall, fag in hand, and looking every bit the sulky rich teenager he isn’t anymore. He looks up when Nick appears and curls his lip.
‘Hello Nick Grimshaw,’ he says, a little sardonically. Harry doesn’t do sardonic very often.
‘Hello Harry Styles,’ Nick replies mildly. ‘What are you up to? Apart from smoking ineptly.’
Harry ignores the dig and shrugs. ‘Not much.’ He takes a drag on the cigarette. Nick realises from his movements – heavier and more dinosaur-like than usual – that he’s pretty drunk.
‘Why aren’t you in there?’ Harry gestures with the cigarette. ‘Shouldn’t you be networking or summat?’
‘Shouldn’t you?’
Harry shrugs. ‘Don’t need to.’
Wow, petulant too.
‘Look. I was gonna go. I came to…’
‘Bored already?’
‘No, there’s just not much point…’
‘You could have come talk to me.’
‘I’m talking to you now,’ says Nick patiently. He’s not totally sure what’s going on with Harry, but it’s probably best to keep it simple. ‘It was insane in there, Haz. You were surrounded.’
‘So you’re going now.’
‘Yeah Harry, but I’ll…’
‘You’ll what? Ring me? Invite me out for a drink? Oh no, wait…’ he says with heavy sarcasm.
And Nick’s heart breaks a tiny bit because Harry's right. He had been going to say 'I'll call you'. He’d completely forgotten they weren’t supposed to be friends, and that they couldn’t see each other like normal. It had flown out of his head the minute he’d seen Harry, which he knows is why he made the decision in the first place. But Harry remembered and he’d made Nick remember too: he’d given Harry up. Again. It was his choice.
Nick longs for him suddenly, as if he’s not standing right in front of him being a bit of an arse, as if it’s already some point in the future and he’s not seen him for months. Maybe we can be friends, he thinks. Maybe we can just go for a drink. And if Harry wants to come home with him after the pub, maybe they can do that too. Maybe Nick’ll take what he can get.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s all right,’ says Harry, voice like steel. ‘I get it. I get that I’m just an embarrassment to you now.’
Nick’s blind-sided. This is new. Then he thinks madly: had Harry somehow heard what he said to that DJ kid? It was a fucking joke, he wants to say.
‘What?’ he blurts.
Harry’s looking shrewdly at him.
‘You haven’t said anything about my song.’
‘I love it,’ he says simply.
‘Do you?’ Harry lopes over and peers at him.
Nick leans back a little. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘No,’ Harry decides. ‘No you don’t. You’re lying.’
‘What? I’m not lying,’ Nick says, genuinely stung. ‘Why would I lie to you?’
Harry is visibly pissed off and gearing up to saying something he’s possibly going to regret. Nick wants to tell him not to say it, whatever it is. But of course he can’t and Harry just ploughs ahead.
‘You don’t really like my songs,’ Harry says. ‘They’re embarrassing. Cheesy pop songs. Bit of a joke.’
‘Oh my god, are you kidding? Since when have I been scared of a bit of pop music?’
Harry’s looking mutinously at him and though yes, he’s a bit drunk, this has obviously been saved up, something real that’s bothered him for a while. Anger lights up in Nick, burning away whatever sadness he’d felt earlier. Harry wants a row? He’s got one.
‘Okay, honestly? Embarrassed? How dare you. I’d play your song even if Radio 1 had blacklisted it, but they didn’t, did they? They stuck it straight onto the A-list the second it was released. Of course they did. You know why? Because it’s really good.’ He’s talking to Harry like he’s an idiot but he doesn’t care. ‘I’m proud of you, Harry, I always have been. Of everything you do. I’m proud of your honesty. I’m proud of the fact that you’ve let none of the mad stuff that’s happened to you turn you into a wanker.’ Harry’s looking a bit taken aback now, maybe even sorry, but Nick’s not finished. ‘I do love your song. I think it’s a great pop song and I love your voice in it. I’ve always loved your voice, by the way, in case you ever wondered.’
Harry is smiling now, a funny little lopsided smile.
‘When you can tell it’s me singin’ ’ he says.
Nick nods seriously.
‘Yes, Harold. When I can tell it’s you singing, I love your voice.’
‘You’d have been stuffed if Ed had been singing too,’ Harry goes on. ‘It’d have been “It’s Zayn!” “No! It’s Niall!” “Oh, wait. That’s Harry. That’s definitely Harry.”’
‘Hey, not fair,’ Nick says, smile building. ‘I could tell, eventually.’
‘When you were watching the videos.’
‘Pictures helped, yeah, definitely.’
They’re both smirking at each other now, and their bickering is like putting on an old coat, and Nick counts it as a save, until they fall silent and Harry’s grin fades a little.
‘So if I’m not some embarrassing kid you don’t want to be seen with... why don’t you want to see me? Are you pissed off with me?’
Nick sighs.
‘Pissed off? No Haz, it’s not… shit…’ He drags a hand through his hair. Maybe he’s not going to get out of this with any dignity intact after all. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’
~
They go to Bar Italia, coffee machines deafening in the background and neon bright overhead. Highlights of AC Milan playing some other team are on the crappy TV and no-one bats an eyelid at them. Double espresso and a glass of tap-water for Harry, black Americano for Nick. They hide themselves at a tiny table in the back, knees touching. Harry drains nearly the whole glass of water in one go before putting it down and burping softly. Then he drags over the sugar dispenser and up-ends it four times into his coffee. Nick makes a face.
‘That’s disgusting.’
‘So you always say,’ says Harry, stirring the coffee. ‘Said,’ he corrects himself. ‘Say,’ he finally decides on.
Nick feels inexpressibly sad all of a sudden. Harry’s not built for this complicated shit. Harry just wants to love his friends and for them to love him back.
‘I’m sorry,’ Nick says, realising it’s the second time that night he’s said it.
‘It’s all right, Grimmy. It’s only a bit of sugar.’
‘No. I meant.’ Nick unwraps one of his hands from around his cup and spreads it into an awkward fan. ‘I’m sorry for all of this. That I made you think I didn’t even like you.’
‘What else was I supposed to think?’ Harry says, blowing across his coffee. ‘You don’t wanna be friends wimme, you don’t want ‘owt else.’
His Cheshire always breaks out when he’s had a few. He gingerly takes a sip of his coffee.
‘I don’t mean to be confusing. I just.’ Nick leans his cheek on his hand and lets out a breath. ‘Fuck, this is hard.’
‘Tellin’ me. You don’t want owt to do wimme. But hey!’ Harry’s face lights up tiredly. ‘It’s all right, cos you think I’m great!’ He hiccups and puts the coffee down. ‘Thanks for that, by the way,’ he adds. ‘Was a nice speech.’
‘Welcome.’
Harry settles sideways on the chair, his back to the wall, eyes half-flicking to the football. He’s not looking at Nick now, which might make this easier.
‘Okay. Here’s the thing,’ Nick says. ‘It’s really hard for me to be around you. Because I think all those things about you. Because I’m so proud of you. Because I … like you as much as I do. Do you get it?’
Harry shakes his head, eyes still on the football. Nick suddenly gets the feeling he’s being deliberately obtuse. Fuck. Why had he thought it was a good idea to have this conversation now? At 2am, in the middle of the noisiest fucking café in London, with Harry not exactly sober? You really pick your moments, don’t you Grimshaw?
‘Because it was nice while it lasted,’ he says tartly, his patience gone. He can’t be bothered to be careful anymore. ‘But it was what it was. It was a fling…’
Harry jerks his head towards Nick.
‘It was not a fucking fling and you know it.’
‘… a hot fling,’ Nick presses on, ignoring Harry. ‘That was hot partly because we had to keep it a secret.’
‘Bollocks.’
‘But we’ve moved on now. Or you’ve moved on, but I still have stupid feelings that I can’t…’
Harry’s fully turned back to Nick now, football forgotten.
‘I sent you that text! I said, “not just friends”.’
‘I know! I don’t just want sex from you Harry.’
As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he feels completely exposed. Christ, what did it matter now?
‘And it took you two weeks,’ Nick rants on, because apparently this had been bothering him too. ‘Ooh, spontaneous, Styles. Eager. You must really have wanted it. If it took weeks to think you may as well fuck your old…’
‘Shut up,’ hisses Harry. ‘Shut the fuck up.’
Nick clamps his mouth shut, breathing hard through his nose and Harry’s eyes flash green and fully awake.
‘You don’t know anything,’ he says. His mouth is working, tense. ‘I came back to London. I came out. I came to your birthday for fucks sake. I thought that’d be enough for you to get the message, but obviously not. So let me spell it out for you, Nick. In words of one syllable.’ And he punctuates each word by poking the top of the formica table with his index finger. ‘I. Came. Back. For. You. Did you honestly not get that?’
Nick feels like Road Runner, treading air over the drop that’s just opened up below him. He’s going to look such a fool when he hits the bottom.
‘I know I didn’t say it before,’ Harry goes on. ‘Which was maybe a bit stupid, but. You’ve just been so weird, Nick. Jumpy and ready to run off. Pulling away from me. Not even flirting, just looking bored and tired. I wasn’t sure of you anymore. I thought you might be angry with me. So I thought I’d try for what I could get, and it turns out you wouldn’t even give me that.’
Harry looks baffled and sad.
‘My cunning plan worked then,’ Nick says bleakly.
‘Nearly.’ Harry shakes his head at Nick.
Nick can’t take Harry’s expression right at that moment, and looks down at his cup, his fingers propped either side of it. He tries to arrange his feelings and work out what he’s thinking and fails. All that comes to him is that on a scale of one to incredibly stupid he’s broken the measure. Why the bloody hell Harry would want to be with anyone like that is beyond him at the moment.
And then Harry’s hand appears in his line of vision and gently takes hold of Nick’s fingers, tugging them away from his cup. Nick looks up and watches, strangely detached, as Harry draws Nick’s hand towards himself. He covers it with both of his – warm and dry, Nick registers distantly – and smoothes it between them like it’s a small animal. Then he turns it over and leans down to kiss the palm before lifting it to his cheek, holding it there. Nick trails his thumb automatically over Harry’s cheekbone.
‘You fucking dickhead,’ Harry says quietly. They smile wearily at each other.
~
They get a cab and from force of habit they each sit on their own side, like they used to in the old days, a hand splayed on the seat between them, almost-but-not-quite touching. When they pull up outside Nick’s flat he sits forward with his hand on the door-handle and says to his knees, ‘I’m not gonna invite you in. I think we should take this slowly. So let’s… I’ll ring…’
‘I think that’s a crap idea,’ Harry interrupts gently. ‘I’m really tired. I want to come in with you.’
‘Um,’ says Nick, still looking at his knees. ‘Ok.’
They get in and say hello to Ruby. Nick leaves Harry to settle her back in her blanket and pads through to the bedroom and turns on the lamps. Harry follows, dumping his jacket on the chair in the corner and hauling his shirt over his head. Then he goes through to the bathroom and rummages in the cupboard where Nick keeps spare toothbrushes (and floss and abandoned shampoo.) After stripping to his pants and t-shirt, Nick joins him, and they brush together for a minute or two, catching each other’s eye in the mirror, as if they do this every night. Harry finishes first and when Nick switches off the bathroom light and goes back through to the bedroom, Harry’s in bed, lying on his side, watching him.
‘Bloody hell,’ Nick says, nervously breaking the silence. ‘Maybe we should just skip the next twenty years and get some twin beds now.’
Harry doesn’t say anything, just lifts the covers and looks at Nick, and Nick feels something powerful roll through him, something that makes him genuinely speechless. He gets into bed, and they lie on their sides, facing each other, a pillow each. They used to do this too sometimes. Just lie there and chat. It wasn’t all impatient grabbing (though it was mostly). Nick reaches out to ruffle Harry’s hair, running his palm across the soft brush, feeling it tickle.
‘This is still weird,’ he says. ‘Does it feel weird?’
‘A bit. Getting used to it.’
‘When did you get it done?’
‘’Bout a month after the tour ended,’ Harry says, reaching out to stroke his thumb across Nick’s bottom lip. ‘Liam did it the first time actually. I didn’t want to tell anyone.’
‘Seriously? What did Lou say?’
Harry grins sheepishly. ‘She went mental.’
‘I bet she did.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I do. Suits you.’ Nick takes Harry’s chin between his thumb and index knuckle. ‘You and your amazing face,’ he says, half-joking, half perfectly serious, like he always did.
Harry moves forward then and presses his mouth softly against Nick’s. Neither of them move for a while, just feeling it. Then one of them shifts a little, Nick doesn’t know who, and suddenly they swim towards each other across the few inches of space that separates them to hold each other and press their mouths urgently together and Nick is dizzy with having missed Harry and got him back and he breaks away, a little breathless, and drops his forehead onto Harry’s shoulder. He can feel Harry idly stroking the back of his head.
‘Y’okay?’
He nods against Harry’s shoulder and takes a shaky breath.
‘Just knackered.’
Harry gathers him closer and Nick burrows into him.
‘Let’s go sleep.’
~
Light.
It’s light waking him, not noises or alarms.
Not blinding, but lighter than usual. In fact it’s as light as it ever gets in his bedroom, with the thick blinds. It must be the weekend. Sunday? Maybe.
He’s lying on his back. He feels heavy, warm. He doesn’t move yet. What’s he wearing? T-shirt and pants. That’s normal. There’s something different though. Something’s changed. He’s not in the middle of the bed, he’s off to the right a bit. There’s a clue. He looks at the ceiling for a little while. Then he hears a noise, one he didn’t make. The door’s shut so it’s not the dog.
There it is again. A long inhaling breath, someone sleeping.
Nick turns towards the sound automatically and as he does, everything from the night before comes falling back into his head: where he was, who he was with, the conversation they’d had. By the time he’s lying on his side, looking at the dark-haired head on the other pillow, and the bare shoulders and back, he’s remembered everything.
Harry. It’s Harry. Harry is here again, in his bed.
Out of rusty old habit, out of desire, because he simply can’t help it, because he can, he reaches for Harry’s shoulder and feels the warm skin under his palm. He smoothes it down the shoulder blade and inches closer, sliding his hand down Harry’s side, tucking his knees against the backs of Harry’s, feeling Harry move his body in his sleep to take Nick’s. Harry snuffles a bit, and Nick drops his face into the crook of Harry’s neck and breathes in. There was never a time when he was with Harry that he didn’t do this. It’s automatic, like breathing. He lies there for a little while, feeling how their bodies fit together, his hand resting on Harry’s hip. Harry hasn’t woken, his breathing still deep and regular. If he’s sleeping as heavily as Nick, it’ll probably take a bomb to wake him. Nick doesn’t mind. He’s got all day.
He scoots away and sits up, dragging his t-shirt over his head and tossing it over the side, then lies back and slides his underwear off, treading it out of the end of the bed. Then he turns back to Harry and curls up against him again, feeling all Harry’s lovely skin against his, expecting to fall back to sleep.
Five minutes later he’s still awake. And a little bit bored. He runs the tip of his nose idly along Harry’s shoulder then back again to the nape of his neck where he places a gentle kiss. There’s no hair to nuzzle into anymore – it had held the intense smell of Harry even after he’d washed it – but there are other nice things. Nick had never paid much attention to the bones at the top of Harry’s spine for instance, which he does now. He follows them down Harry’s back, dragging his mouth softly over the knobs and Harry shifts in his sleep again, letting out a small sigh. Nick doesn’t know why he’s doing this when Harry can’t feel it. Is he trying to wake him? Probably. Sorry Harry, Nick thinks.
He also just – he hasn’t had a chance to do this in a long time. He’s not sure if he ever has, so he’s taking it.
He moves out from Harry’s spine to his shoulder blades, breathing in his skin, dropping kisses where he feels like it. He’s still got one hand on Harry’s hip, lying with his head resting on the other arm stretched above his head. It’s surprisingly comfy, and doesn’t require much movement. He’s going to have to shift down at some point though, because he wants to get at the two dimples in the small of Harry’s back. If Nick’s less familiar with the top of Harry’s spine, he is intimate with those dimples. He’s itching for a reunion. Meanwhile Harry shifts again, makes another noise, and Nick tries to feel bad for waking him but he just can’t. The dimples await. He starts moving down, pushing the duvet down as he slides down the bed. Somewhere around Harry’s hip he starts alternating the kisses with gentle bites – making Harry’s sleep-breaths turn whimpery – because he’s never been able to resist the plumpness Harry always has around there. It’s less plump now, but there’s still something to bite into.
Nick’s feet are threatening to dangle off the bottom of the bed but he doesn’t care because he’s found what he’s after and is fitting his thumbs in the dimples briefly before lowering his face towards them to feel them with his mouth. And judging from the way he’s pushing back against Nick and the noises he’s making, Nick’s pretty sure Harry’s awake now.
Ah, what a shame, he thinks insincerely. He nibbles his way back to Harry’s hip and starts making his way over the top, sliding his arm over Harry’s legs to stroke his thighs idly. He props his chin on Harry’s hipbone and sees what he can see.
Hi, he thinks. Hi.
Harry is gorgeously hard, his cock swollen and almost swaying, touching his belly, and just as Nick’s contemplating exactly what he’s going to do with it, he feels a hand tangling in his hair and hears a long, husky ‘Mmmmmm.’S’nice,’ somewhere above him.
‘Hiya,’ he says, his own voice a little croaky from sleep still. He feels Harry’s hand tighten in his hair and he starts to roll over under him. Nick ends up lying between Harry’s thighs looking up at him over his unignorable dick. ‘Sorry for waking you.’
‘No you’re not,’ Harry slurs out around a knowing smile.
‘No,’ Nick agrees. ‘I’m not.’ He dips his head to run the tip of his nose up the underside of Harry’s cock and Harry gives another approving hum. Nick shuffles his way up on his elbows, careful not to touch anything before placing his tongue hotly against the head of Harry’s cock, for maximum impact. He can taste the sweet tang of salt there already.
‘Aa-ah,’ Harry stutters out and Nick feels Harry’s hand tighten in his hair. ‘You better be going somewhere with that.’
‘Might be,’ says Nick, taking his mouth away and moving further up. ‘Might just tongue your belly-button for a while,’ he adds and does just that. ‘That all right?’
Harry growls out a ‘no’ and Nick sniggers. Wow, what happened to his new maturity?
‘Or maybe I’ll just…’ he says and moves back down to take Harry whole into his mouth and throat, all the way down, and Harry gasps, and all the stupid jokes are knocked out of Nick. His eyes water a bit, partly because Harry’s nearly taken his hair out by the roots, partly because he hasn’t sucked cock like this in a while and partly because, well, it’s nice. It’s really nice to have Harry like this again. He lets out his own involuntary moan and Harry pushes up into his mouth as if he’s trying to chase the sound and Nick has to hold Harry’s hips down so he doesn’t choke.
‘Sorry,’ says Harry breathlessly. ‘It’s just. Fuck.’
Yeah, fuck. Nick drags his mouth up, making full use of his tongue, and then sinks back down and Harry moans and pushes up again. Nick’s holding him so he doesn’t get very far, but as long as he can control it he’ll let Harry fuck his mouth. Harry knows it, because he takes his hands off Nick’s head and out of the corner of his eye Nick sees them winding into the sheets instead. They find a messy rhythm, and Nick thinks that the sound of Harry’s shaky breaths as he holds himself back, remixed by Calvin and set to a backing track would be number one in seventy-four countries for the next three years. He closes his eyes and sucks and listens. He spreads himself across the bottom half of Harry’s body, arms winding up his sides, knees coming up under Harry’s thighs pushing Harry deeper into his mouth because Nick’s throat is bottomless for Harry.
Harry’s started on the high-pitched stuff when Nick feels a tug on his hair.
‘Hey,’ Harry pants. ‘Come up. Come here. Gonna come otherwise.’
Nick pulls off long enough to say ‘That’s sort of the point, Styles,’ his voice a little wrecked, and goes back to what he was doing.
‘Nooo,’ Harry says in that five-year-old, you’re-not-doing-it-properly voice which Nick supposes would be disturbing if he stopped to think about it. ‘Not yet. Want you here, with me. Want us to come together.’
Nick slides off again, Harry’s cock shining with spittle and pre-come, and says ‘Ah, that’s sweet, Hazza.’
‘Yeah,’ he pulls on Nick’s hair again, enough to make Nick bring his hand up to clamp onto Harry’s wrist to stop him doing it again. ‘So come here.’
Nick lets out a big martyrish sigh and starts crawling up Harry until he’s caging him on all fours. Harry pushes his hips up towards Nick and their cocks brush lightly against each other, sparking.
‘Here,’ Harry insists, making it into two separate words. Hee. Yer.
‘Needy,’ scolds Nick.
‘Yeah, I am,’ says Harry feelingly. ‘I haven’t had you in so long. Fucking give.’ He grabs at Nick’s hips, pulling him down.
‘Aw, babes,’ Nick says lowering himself, his necklace swinging and brushing against Harry’s chest. ‘When you put it like that.’ But 'that' trails off into an ‘…aaah,’ as his cock slides against Harry’s, and he thrusts reflexively while Harry grabs Nick’s arse and pushes up against him. God, young Styles has the best ideas sometimes.
‘Mmm, yeah,’ Harry murmurs as Nick sinks between Harry’s thighs and ruts helplessly against him. He props himself on his forearms and drops his face down to Harry’s, their mouths coming together open, smash bang, teeth pinching, tongues deep inside, matching their thrusts, doing what their bodies should be doing, and right then Nick can’t wait to fuck Harry, the thought giving an extra roll to his thrusts making them both moan. They have to do this first though, come and come quickly, as it’s not gonna be long for either of them and they can’t waste something as logistically complicated as fucking on something this frantic and fast. Harry is pushing up against Nick urgently, making frustrated little noises, and Nick matches his rhythm perfectly, desperate to give Harry what he needs, and the rubbing is almost painful, but luckily there’s enough pre-come from both of them to slick their way.
They stop kissing, just holding their faces near each other, transfixed as they move against each other. Nick can already feel his orgasm boiling up from his toes, and he knows Harry’s close too. As if to confirm it, he gasps out ‘Gonna come,’ his fingers digging deep into the tender flesh of Nick’s arse before his face crumples – mouth turning down and forehead creasing – and he goes still. Then it’s like his whole body pulses and Nick feels warmth spread between them, covering his dick. He doesn’t make much noise, Nick notes, just an effortful sigh, and that’s new, and Nick tucks that away for future reference. He shuffles his knees up so he can sit over Harry, straddling his thighs and using Harry’s come to wank himself off. Harry is idly fingering a nipple with one hand and pinching gently at his softening dick with the other, his face is flushed full red, and his eyes, when he opens them to look at Nick, are glassy with banked lust.
He’s filth, and he’s Nick’s.
His orgasm slams through him, making him tip over and hold himself above Harry on one hand as he strokes the last of his come out onto Harry’s stomach. Harry raises his fingers to Nick’s mouth and dabbles them inside his lips and Nick catches them, sucking them in as he comes down. He’s breathing hard and he sits back on his heels, taking hold of Harry’s wrist and sliding their fingers together. He brings Harry’s hand to his mouth to kiss Harry’s knuckles. Harry reaches up with his other hand and opens and closes it in a grabby little gesture, and Nick lies down beside Harry so they face each other, like they did last night, only dirtier, stomachs sticky with come, thighs sliding together, fingers touching faces, uncomplicatedly happy.
‘Hey,’ they say. ‘Hey.’
~
The cold is getting sharper and the leaves are beginning to fall. Nick’s wearing a scarf and wishing for gloves, his hands shoved in his pockets, watching Harry throw a stick for Ruby. It’s a month or so later and they’re in Heaton Park, home for the weekend. They’ve just had lunch with Anne in town, who’d squeezed them both unusually hard when they said goodbye, and possibly had a shinier eye than was strictly normal. No mysteries who Harry took after in that family.
Harry and Ruby hare about for a while before running back to Nick. Ruby jumps up and Nick bends down and lets her lick his face. Harry bangs his big football-manager gloves together.
‘Freezing, eh?’
Nick straightens up, Ruby still jumping at his knees, and says, ‘Give me one of them,’ and reaches out to draw one of Harry’s hands towards him to start tugging the glove off.
‘Heeeeyy,’ says Harry, but lets Nick pull it off anyway. Nick puts it on (it’s warm from Harry’s hand) and beams.
‘Thanks, Haz. You’re a treasure.’ He pats Harry’s cheek with his newly gloved hand.
‘Too right I am,’ Harry says and catches Nick’s wrist to pull him closer. They kiss, Nick feeling the rough leather of Harry’s glove against his cheek. Harry’s mouth is whipped cream on hot chocolate, hot and cold at once. They pull apart and stand there for a little while, grinning at each other like fucking idiots.
They walk back, bumping each other off the path, putting their non-gloved hands in each other’s pockets, and decide to go for a cheeky beer before heading up to Nick’s mum and dad’s where they’re due for their tea. They find somewhere near the park, a tired gastro-pub with big windows and sofas and bookcases. There’s hardly anyone in, which suits them fine. Harry spots a pile of scuffed boardgames on one of the shelves and Nick rolls his eyes when he makes a beeline for them. Nick comes back from the bar with their drinks to find Ruby settled under the table and Harry setting up the Scrabble board.
‘Jesus, you’re addicted. I thought you’d have got weaned off that when you were away.’
‘Shut up and play, Grimshaw. I won the dice toss. I’m going first.’
‘I’m not even sitting down yet,’ Nick complains. Harry’s already spelling out his first word. Nick looks down at the board.
‘D I C K’
‘Starting small, I see Styles,’ he says, taking a swig from his Budvar. ‘You’ll never get anywhere with a little one like that.’
Harry shakes his head. ‘You did not just say that.’
Nick puts down the bottle. ‘All right, let’s be having you. Time for the professionals.’
He sets up his letters and looks at what he’s got. It’s a dream come true. He uses Harry’s ‘K’ to spell out F U C K E R which hits a double-word score as well.
‘Right. This is on, you bastard,’ Harry says, wriggling forward on the sofa to hunch over his letter tray.
Harry’s forehead creases as he moves the letter tiles around in their stand, glancing at the board every now and then. Ruby shifts restlessly at his feet and he reaches down to scratch her neck. He picks up his bottle to take a drink and looks up, catching Nick watching him.
'I love you,' Nick says. He thought he'd been going to say 'Hurry up, loser.'
Harry pauses with his beer halfway back to the table, then smiles a big smile at Nick.
‘Yeah,’ he agrees, putting the bottle down, and they look at each other for a little while before Harry goes back to his letters.
Nick looks around at the pub. The barman is at the end of the bar, a paper flattened out in front of him, lime and soda sweating beside him; a woman sitting by the window with a pint, checking her phone; an old bloke, all red face and iron-grey hair, is staring at the telly, nearly empty Guinness in front of him.
Nick spots a Sun lying on the next table over. At the top of the sidebar on the front page he can see a blurry picture of him and Harry walking down a street together, the picture catching the moment in their arm swing where it looks like they’re holding hands, with the headline ‘Harry Back With Old Flame?’. For a minute he can’t even think when the picture might have been taken, then he remembers – last Thursday, Gloucester Avenue. He thinks about pointing it out to Harry and then doesn’t. He thinks about them kissing in the park and wonders if there were any paps out there, freezing in their cars with their elephant-gun lenses who caught them, or even just some twat with a smartphone and a Twitter account. Good luck to them, thinks Nick, and takes another sip of his beer, and watches Harry spell out his next word on the board.
|
Jane's frame-shift theory ultimately proved fruitless, at least as far as anyone could tell; either Amora wasn't in Manhattan, the sensors weren't picking her up, or she had deliberately hidden herself. Prince Thor seemed to think the latter, when the Avengers assembled for lunch and a strategy meeting.
Lunch was sushi. JARVIS struggled with chopsticks, but the food was worth the effort. He found he liked avocado; he did not like eel; he liked tuna; he loved wasabi.
"Is it possible this is temporary?" Sir asked, gesturing at JARVIS with his chopsticks. "Like it'll just pop back eventually, without us doing anything?"
"Unlikely," Prince Thor said. "If she did wish to distract you, maintaining the transformation is necessary. I suppose she might let it go once she gets whatever it is she wants."
"Okay, but why would she distract me in a way that would make me actively look for her?" Sir persisted. "This makes no sense."
"We only see part of the picture," Agent Barton said. "Anyway, you can't apply logic to these people, they're crazy."
Prince Thor looked ominous. Agent Barton rolled his eyes.
"Bad guys, Thor, I didn't mean Asgardians in general. Though you gotta admit, the score for Asgardians on Earth is like 5-3 Good-Evil right now. That's not a ratio I particularly love."
"You have not seen us at our best," Prince Thor admitted.
"I can apply logic if I want to," Sir said. "Anyone who's capable of functioning on a basic level has some kind of method. She's here for a reason, possibly to do with Thor, and if Thor's right, she tried to take me out as the one she considers our heavy hitter."
"Which means you might be next, Big Brains," Sergeant Wilson added, indicating Dr. Banner and Dr. Foster.
"Hulk's not rational," Dr. Banner said. "There's an entire half of me she doesn't have to worry about."
"I'm pretty sure nobody on Asgard wants to mess with me after London," Dr. Foster added.
"So, do we wait for her to come to us?" Agent Romanoff asked.
"That makes me pretty uncomfortable," Captain Rogers said. "Is there a way to bait a trap? Do we know what would..." he seemed to be searching for a way to say what he was thinking. "Aside from whatever it is she wants, which we don't know, what would attract her? You?" he asked Prince Thor. "Tony? Is she interested in JARVIS, in seeing what she's done -- "
"Absofuckinglutely not," Sir put in. The edge in his voice made everyone turn towards him. "JARVIS isn't bait, end of story."
"Sir -- " JARVIS began.
"No. You've been a human being for a day, your backups are shot, you're not trained for this. And why the hell would she care, anyway?"
"Okay, Tony," Captain Rogers said. "I was brainstorming, that's all."
"Well, brainstorm yourself some other, less stupid idea."
"Sir," JARVIS said, and was momentarily shocked at how sharp his own voice sounded. Sir looked at him, as startled as he was. JARVIS soldiered on. "That will be enough speaking for me, thank you."
Sir blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Thank you for advocating for my safety. Captain Rogers understands. There's no need to beat the dead horse, Sir."
Agent Barton laughed, and when Sir glared at him, said, "Hey, man, you programmed him. If you didn't want uppity, you know who to blame."
It did, at least, break the tension. Sir rolled his eyes and went back to his food. Captain Rogers shot JARVIS an apologetic look.
"But really, what would get her attention?" the Captain asked Prince Thor. "Can you think of anything? What's her, uh, story?"
Prince Thor looked thoughtful. "She is also known as the Enchantress. She studied under a Norn queen, for a time, but she was sent away -- rumor says she lacked discipline. For a while she was my brother's fellow student; they were good friends."
"And she had a crush on her BFF's older brother?" Sir asked, raising an eyebrow. "How very Young Adult Novel."
"No, I don't think so. Well, perhaps," Prince Thor allowed. "But that was long ago, and nothing more than fun. I had little eye for such things when there were battles and feasts to be had."
JARVIS saw Agent Romanoff glance at Dr. Foster, but she seemed amused.
"She craves power. She dislikes self-denial. Of her other habits I know little," Thor said with a shrug.
"All right, well, Thor's restless, so I think a few of you should take him out and wander aimlessly, because that sometimes works surprisingly well," Dr. Foster said. "The brain trust will lock itself in for the afternoon and see what we come up with."
"You still looking at a scaling problem?" Sir asked. "I might be able to squeeze you a little more juice."
"Scaling, lack of focus...." Dr. Foster shrugged. "Sometimes it's a problem of just not having the equipment to deal with it yet. In twenty years, maybe."
"Limited by the technology of our time," Sir murmured. JARVIS remembered that; Sir's father had said it, or something like it, in a film reel. He didn't understand familial relations as fully as humans seemed to, even now that he was one, but he knew enough of Sir to be aware that his father stood as an invisible object in his life. Howard Stark was known more by the gaps he'd left in Sir than by the solidity of Sir's existence.
A thought occurred to him, something to try with the program, but unlike his former existence, he couldn't simply test it and present Sir with the results (or ignore them if they weren't relevant). He'd have to physically go to the lab and tinker with the program, which would be noticed. And he was reluctant, as he thought the others were, to leave the satisfied comfort of lunch and return to their duties.
More and more, in the last few months, he had seen Sir uncharacteristically linger after a meal or in the mornings. He'd set up a subroutine to monitor it, for a while, but had come to the conclusion that Sir was not ill or sleep-deprived (indeed, he slept better lately than usual, and JARVIS had been considering establishing a new baseline to stop the new behavior from skewing his curve). Sir simply liked the company of these people. He liked to be around them. JARVIS liked them too, so he understood.
***
That evening, so as not to draw attention, he went to bed at a reasonable hour, before Sir and Ms. Potts; he'd eaten with Sergeant Wilson and Captain Rogers, who'd come back from escorting Thor around Manhattan and brought meatloaf fixings with them. Meatloaf had an unsettling texture, but he liked Sergeant Wilson's mashed potatoes, and the way the two men filled the kitchen with talk and jokes as they'd cooked and JARVIS had watched.
When he came up to the penthouse, Sir and Ms. Potts were still at the dining table, heads bent together, talking in a way that usually meant JARVIS should set the cameras and microphones to privacy mode. Sir glanced up, called out "JARVIS, you good?" and then smiled and went back to flattering Ms. Potts when JARVIS nodded. He changed into pajamas, then sat down on the foot of his bed and waited until he heard their bedroom door close. After a few minutes, just in case, he padded back out, barefoot, into the elevator and down to the labs. Dr. Banner and Dr. Foster had long since closed the lab for the night, but JARVIS knew the access code and they'd left the computers running.
This would be easier if he still had full processing power, and the program wasn't strictly designed for what he had in mind. But Sir's technology grid was still far and away beyond the capabilities of most, and writing the program he intended wouldn't take too long. There were bits and pieces he could pull from the existing code.
He flexed his fingers over the keyboard, mentally titled the file -- it made him feel better, more like this was routine work for Sir -- and began work on program THAUMATROPE.
He did not remember falling asleep.
He did not remember saving his program and closing it, either, though he must have done so; when he woke, to a light touch on his shoulder and an ache in his lower back, the monitor in front of him was blank. Dr. Banner was leaning against the table, looking down at him in curiosity.
"You know, even Tony doesn't fall asleep working that much anymore," he said, as JARVIS yawned and bent his head forward, cracking his neck.
"Well, as I've been told, I'm younger than him," JARVIS replied. He felt tired, greasy, stiff; Sir was clearly a masochist for doing this all the time. It was a terrible way to wake up. Also, he smelled funny.
"What were you working on?" Dr. Banner asked.
"Nothing of consequence," JARVIS said. "Nothing that worked, either," he added ruefully. The Thaumatrope Project wasn't functioning, not yet; he did remember, sometime around midnight, being very frustrated with it.
"We'll find her. Someone like that won't stay inconspicuous for long," Dr. Banner said. "You should head upstairs. Tony's probably wondering where you are."
JARVIS realized he didn't know what time it was, and had a small moment of panic before he located a clock; it didn't help much.
"Nine o'clock!" he said, dismayed. "Sir will already be up, I haven't made the coffee -- "
Dr. Banner put a hand on his arm, and JARVIS flinched. He lifted it off with an apologetic expression.
"Tony can make his own coffee," he said. "I've seen him do it once or twice."
"But I'm supposed to," JARVIS said, scrambling out of the chair. He took off running for the elevator, fidgeting impatiently as it carried him back to the penthouse. When he arrived, it was quiet, and Sir and Ms. Potts' bedroom door was open, the bedroom empty. JARVIS cast about, wondering if he should check the workshop, before he saw a piece of paper propped on the bar dividing kitchen and living room.
Sir's handwriting.
JARVIS,
Didn't want to wake you. Coffee in the pot, food in the fridge. Come down to the workshop when you're ready. Workshop, not lab, Dr. Foster can spare you for a few minutes.
AES
He felt his heart sink. It was an actual feeling you could have, which he hadn't been aware of, but there was the pain in his chest, the lowered feeling.
He wasn't necessary.
He wasn't even that useful, like this. Sir didn't need him. And Sir said Dr. Foster didn't either. Ms. Potts, who liked him, had never strictly speaking needed him. And one ought to be useful; that was how one earned a place in the world.
He balled up the note and tossed it into the recycling bin, which made him feel a little better. The heat of the shower helped, too, sluicing away a night's worth of grime and stiffness. But he couldn't wear his gloves in the shower, and halfway through lathering the soap, he looked down at his hands and his eyes inexplicably started to hurt. His breath hiccupped, and his chest hurt again, too.
He'd seen people cry, of course. Sir, once in a while over the course of many years. Ms. Potts, slightly more often, mostly at movies. Captain Rogers, once, in frustration after an unsuccessful attempt to locate his friend. Various, numerous people who worked in the building, crying in offices or empty conference rooms or supply closets. It was a private action, usually.
He could see why. It was messy and painful, loud and humiliating. He leaned against the wall of the shower cubicle, fruitlessly wiping at his eyes and trying to catch his shuddering breath. He didn't want to be crying, he just didn't seem to be able to stop. He didn't want to be here, he wanted to be in his servers, in his building. Sir had built it for him, it was his by right, and now...
Sir didn't even need him. Sir was generous, of course; he would be safe, and he didn't worry about his physical needs. But if he wasn't needed, what was the point of him?
He wanted a comfort he couldn't attain, and that just made the whole thing worse. It wasn't even that something was broken, but that it couldn't be fixed. Nothing to be done.
Eventually his body seemed to tire of all this emotion, and he finished washing, stepping out of the shower and considering, for the second time, whether he trusted himself to shave. No; he didn't mind the way it felt, and it wasn't really more than scruff still, anyway.
(Sir had first grown his goatee when JARVIS was very young, "to look older"; it was his signature, now, but JARVIS suspected he also refused to shave it off because it took too long to grow back again.)
He went to the closet in a sort of daze. If he was going to be in the workshop, he decided, he shouldn't risk one of the suits. Sir wore workout pants and t-shirts; JARVIS pulled on a long-sleeved shirt and then one of the crisp, new t-shirts with intentionally worn-out logos that stocked the front of the closet. He put the gloves in the pocket of his pants, tucking the sleeves around his hands -- that felt better, and the gloves looked ridiculous -- and went to find Sir.
JARVIS had never fully appreciated just how loud Sir's "loud" setting for music was until he couldn't turn his mics down. He walked into the workshop and immediately clapped his hands to his ears, hunching over. He flailed for the nearest interface, calling up the audio controls and dropping the volume to nothing. It was a miracle Sir didn't have permanent hearing loss.
"J!" Sir yelled, from behind one of the roadsters. JARVIS waited as Sir pushed himself to his feet, wiping his hands on a rag. "Always turning down my music," Sir said, shaking his head. "Come on, work to do. Little less formal today, I see."
"A suit seemed inappropriate for the workshop."
"Good, you got the note. This is sad, JARVIS, I'm reduced to leaving handwritten notes for people because you can't just email them for me anymore."
"I could," JARVIS ventured. "With a Starkpad, I could -- "
"I was kidding. It's fine. It's like camping! C'mere." Sir dropped back down behind the car, which was propped up on jacks, and JARVIS curiously circled the car. Sir had taken the side panels off, exposing the engine, and had begun disassembling it. JARVIS stood over him, amused and appalled.
"Yes," he said. "Clearly the most productive use of your time, Sir."
"Boy, are we edgy today," Sir replied. "Get under, I need to show you something."
JARVIS sighed, stopping the roller board with one foot as Sir slid it over to him. He sat and then laid back, pushing himself under the engine. He'd seen exploded diagrams of engines, specs and simulations, but up close, there was an awful lot of...dirt.
"Okay, just hang there for a second," Sir said. "I'm gonna remove the -- "
He pulled out two of the pistons, and light flooded in where they'd been removed. JARVIS tipped his head to one side. There was an imperfection in the underside of the block, only visible now that the piston's arm wasn't in front of it.
"You should see something, red, SI logo -- "
"I see it, Sir," JARVIS said, tugging on the little object. It came away when he tugged, along with a wad of adhesive that gummed up his fingers. It was an old DatDisc -- one of the myriad high-density storage options that had tried to survive in the market before the flashdrive became ubiquitous. "Charming, we're hoarding data in car engines now."
"Judge not," Sir said, and JARVIS yelped in surprise when Sir grabbed his legs and tugged him out. "Yep, that's what I was looking for." He held out a hand, and JARVIS flipped the little object up into it. "Your dexterity is improving," Sir continued, as JARVIS sat up.
"Little choice," JARVIS murmured. Sir spat on the rag and then polished the DatDisc with it. He popped it open and plugged the circular port into a nearby reader, an antique also from the days when nobody knew if flashdrives or SD cards or zipdisks were going to be the future.
"When I programmed you," Sir said, as the reader whirred and a screen popped up with the disc's contents, "I was having a very paranoid moment possibly brought on by a recent breakup with a woman who was way smarter and way crazier than me, and I..." he trailed off, hands moving across the keyboard, "...backed up your seed program onto this little thing and then shoved it in an engine and forgot about it."
JARVIS glanced at the cars. Two others had their hoods popped.
"Didn't remember which one you put it into, did you?" he asked.
"They needed overhauls anyway," Sir pointed out. "And you didn't know about it, and I was unconscious, and I think Amora only wiped you from anywhere you knew about. And anyway, this little thing isn't you," he added, as code began to scroll. JARVIS leaned in, scanning it, awestruck. That was the building blocks of him -- the initial code from which he'd grown. Like a baby picture.
"It's not you," Sir said, resting a hand on Jarvis's shoulder. "There's only one real you, even the other backups were already outdated versions. But it's smart enough that it could possibly help us with our data processing problem. If you want."
JARVIS glanced at him. "If I want, Sir?"
"You have a right to say where it goes, what it's used for."
"Why?" JARVIS asked. Sir frowned.
"You're a sentient person. You should control any, you know. Bits of you, floating around," Sir said, gesturing with the hand that wasn't squeezing JARVIS's shoulder incrementally tighter. "So I got this out, and we can use it, but you need to say that's all right, first. Or not. If that's, you know, weird and discomforting. I'm not a superior judge of these things, that's why I have you."
"Oh," JARVIS said. "Yes. That's fine."
"Good." With a final squeeze, Sir let him go, but he also turned him, peering into JARVIS's face. "Do you have allergies? Are you sleeping?"
"No, and yes," JARVIS said. He probably didn't have allergies.
"Are you sure you don't need some kind of nasal spray?"
"Fairly certain, Sir. I do not seem to have inherited your hypochondria, either."
Sir snorted, but he didn't protest. "Okay. Run it up to the lab. Familiarize yourself with what you've got there, then see if you can plug it in and make it talk."
"Will you be joining us in the lab, sir?" JARVIS asked.
"We're at the stage where my presence mainly involves getting in the way," Sir said. "I'm going to put the engines back together, and Falcon's rig needs some attention."
"And the Mark A05 is still pulling to the left," JARVIS reminded him, not even thinking about it. "I believe the issue lies with energy regulation to the right-side boot repulsors."
Sir blinked at him. "Thanks for reminding me."
"I have said, Sir," JARVIS continued, "that the rollerblades appear to compress the relays. My redesigns are on the server, as you are well aware."
Sir's lips twitched. "JARVIS. Do you want to port into the lab from down here while I work?"
He hadn't thought about it -- that hadn't been his motivation -- but once Sir said it, relief flooded him. He hadn't realized how tense the idea of leaving Sir was making him.
"Yes, please," he said.
"Okay. Find yourself a corner and open a line to the lab. I'm putting my tunes back on."
"Not at that volume, you aren't," JARVIS said, dragging one of the stools around and situating himself at a corner of the workbench, with easy access to an interface with volume control. Butterfingers and You were hard at work trying, and failing, to reassemble one of the engines Sir had dismantled, but Dummy drifted over to inspect JARVIS, ignoring the steady stream of abuse Sir was directing his way for being a lazy, shirking idiotbot.
***
Tony was familiar with the concept of slacking. As an overly-intelligent child who occasionally lacked challenges, he became adept at slacking -- at boarding school, sometimes at MIT, certainly once he was running the company. It wasn't punishable, his rule was, if you still got your work done 1) on time, 2) on budget, and 3) in working order. Stark Industries was full of hypercompetent goof-offs who obeyed his three rules of competence, and Tony liked it that way.
So he didn't mind that JARVIS was slacking, per se. God knew, if anyone deserved it, JARVIS did. And he could understand a certain reluctance to dig into his own code; it'd be like the worst kind of therapy. It was just that he didn't expect it. JARVIS wasn't usually distractible, and until now he'd had a sense of urgency about finding Amora that was both understandable and commendable.
But Tony was checking progress on the program, which was going much too slowly for someone with JARVIS's skills, and when he strolled past JARVIS's corner of the workbench, he was either working on some other program, or he was really good at alt-tab.
They ate lunch in the workshop, companionably sharing a bottle of cola and a couple of granola bars, and Tony did get Sam's rig tuned up to his satisfaction by mid-afternoon. Dinner was uneventful, though JARVIS looked exhausted, and nobody was happy about the lack of progress still being made.
After dinner, Sam said he and Steve wanted to show JARVIS a movie, properly, with the lights out and popcorn and heckling if necessary, and Clint and Natasha wanted to join in as well. Tony glanced at Pepper, who looked like she'd enjoy an evening alone with him, then at JARVIS, who....looked resigned, essentially.
"You don't have to," he said, while the others were debating what to watch.
"I'd like to," JARVIS replied. "I -- it's nice not to be alone. I'm just...tired."
Tony ruffled his hair. "Go sit with them, eat some popcorn, turn your brain off for a little while if you can. Nobody's gonna be insulted if you fall asleep in the movie, J. They just want to hang out with you."
"I don't understand why."
"Well, mostly I imagine it's that they like you. But Steve knows you're out of your element, and he gets that. And Sam's pushing Steve to..." Tony considered how to say it. "To get himself a little help by helping you out. Steve needs something to fix and there isn't a lot in his life right now that is fixable. You, he can help in real ways."
"How did you learn so much, Sir?" JARVIS asked, a droll note to his voice that was very reassuring.
"Clean living," Tony answered, and JARVIS grinned. The dark smudges under his eyes were still there, but he seemed a little more at ease. "Let them look after you. You'll have fun."
"Yes, Sir," JARVIS said. Tony gave him a gentle push to where Clint and Steve were arguing about whether to show The Thomas Crown Affair or Ocean's Eleven.
Tony slid an arm around Pepper's waist, pulling her away from the crowd, and murmured in her ear, "Wanna get laid while the kid's hanging out with his friends?"
She laughed. "It's true, children destroy the romance of every relationship."
"It'll be sexy. I'm pretty sure I have some candles somewhere. Or at least a couple of flashlights. Put on some Led Zep, dance a little..."
"Okay, Tony, you sold me with the Led Zep."
"Works every time," he crowed, pulling her towards the elevator. He caught a glimpse of the others, herding JARVIS into the media room, and Sam threw him a nod -- Steve could still be a kid sometimes, and Clint was basically a kid all the time, but Sam was self-aware enough to keep an eye on JARVIS and make sure he had fun. Natasha dropped him a wink, shocking him, then took JARVIS's arm and steered him gently to sit next to her on the couch.
The popcorn popper fired up just as they hit the elevator, and Tony decided to stop worrying about his wayward AI and focus on his delightful CEO instead.
|
Chihiro-chan holds the love letter close to her chest, her heart going *doki-doki* and her face a luminescent blush. “All I have to do is slip this letter into Senpai’s locker and ask him to meet with me! He’ll know my love for him! Yes, I’ll do it!” She looks up, her eyes sparkling and her hand clutched tight in a fist. “I will confess to Senpai today!”
----------
Hinata comes running into the clubroom screaming and waving around a piece of paper, everyone pausing in their undressing to look at the boy and ask what was wrong. Except for Tsukishima, cause Hinata screams all the time so why bother giving him any attention now.
“I found this in my locker this morning!” Hinata screeches and stops waving around the paper for everyone to see that it was actually an envelope. Now Noya and Tanaka start to scream and rush to their underclassman to take the envelope.
“Shoyou! You got a confession?!” Noya exclaims as Tanaka lunges for the envelope.
“I never got a confession! Who is it from?!” Tanaka screams.
“Wait, wait! That’s what I mean! It’s not a confession!” Hinata shouts. Daichi pulls on his jersey.
“Well, what is it?”
Hinata turns the envelope around in his hands. “Well, if it was a confession, wouldn’t it have been in a cute stationary envelope and like, have a heart on it or something from a girl? Plus, look what they wrote!” Hinata exclaims and pulls the note free from the envelope to pass around. The message is written not in cutesy handwriting from a girl, but moreso looks like the manic and angry writing you would find scribbled along the walls by a serial killer.
COME TO THE ROOFTOP AFTER VOLLEYBALL PRACTICE
“They know I’m in volleyball! They must be stalking me!” Hinata shouts, his eyes panicky and starts to check in boxes and peers out the window for. . .something. Noya balls his hands into a fist.
“This guy thinks he can just threaten my kohai like this?! Shoyou! You need to be a man and face this guy!”
“But what did I do wrong?!” Hinata cries and Tanaka slaps a hand on Hinata’s shoulder.
“It must be some punk that thinks he could just pick on you! That’s why you need to show how manly you are and kick this guy’s ass so no one will be trying to pick a fight with you again! Don’t worry, Noya and I are going to go with you-”
“No one is kicking any ass after practice,” Daichi growls out. Noya turns to his captain, eyes blazing with righteous fury.
“But Daichi!”
“We’ll report it to Takeda that someone is making threats to Hinata. That’s it.”
“Why are we doing anything at all?!” Kageyama suddenly yells and everyone looks over at the raven-haired boy. He reaches to take the passed around note out of Noya’s possession and balls it up. “Who even knows if it’s a threat anyways?! Who would pick a fight with Hinata?!”
“Lots of people,” Tsukishima says simply.
“A dick, that’s who! Come on, Daichi! Let’s see who this guy is at least! He’s going to be waiting on the rooftop after practice!” Noya egged on and Daichi pinches the bridge of his nose.
“No,” he says firmly and turns to Kageyama with his hand held out expectantly. “Give me the note so I can give it to Takeda-”
“N-No! We don’t need to! It’s not a threatening note! Just ignore it! It never happened!” Kageyama yells and stomps towards the door.
“How do you know it’s not a threatening note?” Suga asks and the tips of Kageyama’s ears turn pink.
“You know who wrote the note, Kageyama?! Tell us who!” Noya shouts.
“Yeah tell us! Why are they mad at me?! I’m a nice person!” Hinata cries and Kageyama stares him straight in the eye. He opens his mouth and everyone leans in expectantly to hear just what is going on.
Instead, Kageyama takes the note and stuffs it into his mouth.
“It. Didn’t. Happen,” Kageyama says, voice muffled and runs out the room.
Everyone stares at the door the setter just fled out of while Suga gives a nudge to Daichi's shoulder. Daichi is shaken from his momentary stupor of ‘what the fuck just happened?’ and clears his throat, looking at the other teammates.
“Right. . .er. . .let’s go and. . .practice or whatever.”
Chisaki-chan giggles contently as she watches her beloved Senpai eat the homemade bento box with a look of pure adoration.
“This is so delicious!”
“Oh! Well I always end of making too much anyways! I’m glad that you enjoy it, Senpai!”
“Well. . .that’s not all I enjoy. . .I really love spending time with you, Chisaki-chan.”
Chisaki-chan’s heart immediately went *doki-doki*. Senpai. . .loved spending time with her? He reaches over and takes her hands into his. “Chisaki-chan. . .would you. . .be my girlfriend?”
Chisaki-chan’s eyes grow tearful and she nods her head firmly. Who knew that just eating lunch together would lead to something like this?
----------
“Oi, Hinata!”
Hinata turns from the conversation he was having with his friends, spotting Kageyama running up to him with two large bento boxes in his hands. “Let’s have lunch together!” he barks out than politely asks and Hinata raises an eyebrow.
“Er, okay?” he says, rather unsure, and waves goodbye to his companions before following the taller boy down the hallway and out of the school onto the grounds. Kageyama picks a shady spot underneath a large tree and sits down, Hinata dropping his bag onto the ground and sitting on his knees. He opens his bag to take his sack lunch out, before Kageyama pushes one of the bento boxes towards him.
“Here.”
“. . .What’s this?”
“I made too much,” Kageyama says, tilts his head to the side and bops his forehead with the palm of his hand.
“. . .Why did you hit your head? Are you alright?”
Kageyama makes a strangled noise and huffs, turning to open his own bento box. “Of course I’m alright!” he shouts and Hinata pushes the bento box back to pull out his sack lunch.
“Thanks, but I have my own food,” Hinata says with a grin and Kageyama’s eye twitches.
“Eat mine instead!”
“I-I don’t really need to. You can just keep it and save it for tomorrow or something-”
“No, eat it now! I put a lot of work into making that three tier bento!”
“Three tiers?! I can’t even eat that much!”
“You eat everything!” Kageyama shouts and opens up the second bento, revealing one tier of steamed rice, another tier of cherry tomatoes and steamed vegetables with cutesy little octopus cut wieners, and a final tier of omelet rice and takoyaki. How could someone accidentally make this much food? Kageyama hands a pair of chopsticks to Hinata, while Hinata looks down upon the bento box and simultaneously his imminent doom.
Hinata starts on the omelet rice and eats it, Kageyama intently watching him with furrowed eyebrows.
“. . .What?” Hinata asks with his mouth full.
“Do you like it?” Kageyama asks and Hinata nods his head, swallowing it down and takes another bite.
“It tastes good, yeah,” Hinata comments and Kageyama scratches his slowly growing pink cheek.
“Ok then. I’ll make food for you from now on.”
“Eh?! Y-You don’t need to do that! I make my own lunches, you know!” And that lunch was currently growing cold. He was really looking forward to that onigiri ball too. But he doesn’t want to be rude to Kageyama, especially since the boy looks so happy that he’s eating his lunch, so Hinata grips the chopsticks tightly in his grasp. He can do it! He’ll get through this bento!
Hinata sits out practice later on in the day, on account of eating so much food during lunch that he can’t even jump an inch off the ground.
“S-Senpai! Wait up!” Misaki-chan calls out and trips, falling to the ground. Senpai turns and gasps, rushing over to help the fallen girl up.
“Are you alright?!” he exclaims and she rubs a tear from her eye, examining the bruise on her arm.
“I’m alright, I just hurt my arm,” she says softly and Senpai sighs, kissing her arm gently.
“Geez, what am I going to do with you?
----------
“Heads up!” Asahi shouts and serves the ball over the net, Yamaguchi receiving the ball perfectly and deflecting it to Suga to catch. Hinata serves a ball over the net as well, Daichi barely managing to hit it back.
“Nice receive! Good serve, Hinata!” Suga shouts and Kageyama takes Daichi’s spot, staring at Hinata as the middle block readies the next serve.
“Heads up, Kageyama!” Hinata shouts and hits the ball.
Kageyama stands perfectly still and allows the ball to hit him square in the face.
He falls back with a thud and both Asahi and Hinata scream. In the background, Tanaka is pointing and laughing while Tsukishima is looking at the fallen setter with a smirk on his face.
“What the hell?! You didn’t even dodge that?!” Tanaka shouts in between his guffaws and Suga rushes over to Kageyama still lying on the floor.
“Are you alright, Kageyama?!” Suga asks, beginning to help Kageyama up onto his feet. Kageyama turns onto his side, away from Suga’s helping hands.
“I’m alright, Sugawara.”
“. . .Ok, let me help you up-” Kageyama scoots away from Suga’s hands again, still on the floor and the welt on his forehead growing redder.
“I’m alright, Sugawara,” Kageyama says a little bit more firmly and Suga stares at Kageyama on the floor. Okay. . .he is vice-captain. He should know how to handle this. . .thing.
“Um, Kageyama, are you sure you’re-”
“Hinata!” Kageyama screeches from the floor and Hinata jumps, still standing on the opposite side of the net. “Why aren’t you checking on me?!”
“Cause you’re glaring at me! Are you mad at me?!”
“You hit me with a ball, you dumbass!”
“Why didn’t you dodge it?!” Hinata shouts and crosses under the net to move to Kageyama. “Are you okay?”
Kageyama places a hand to his head and raises the other hand out to Hinata for the orange-haired boy to help him up instead of Suga (who grows even more confused and slightly hurt that Kageyama didn’t want his help).
“It’s just a scratch,” Kageyama says and Hinata cocks his head to the side.
“So why were you making such a big deal if it’s just a scratch?”
“Plus, that is a really big bump on your head,” Suga comments. Maybe Kageyama has a concussion and doesn’t understand what’s going on right now. Kageyama stares at Hinata and Hinata awkwardly looks down at the ground.
“Uh, do you want an apology? I’m sorry? But you should have been able to dodge that ball-”
“Well, do something about it,” Kageyama says firmly and Hinata blinks.
“. . .Do you want me to ask Kiyoko or Yachi to get some ice?”
“No! I want you to. . .to. . .” Kageyama starts to wave his hands as if he was squeezing the air, and Hinata figures that Kageyama was imagining his head was in that space to get squeezed flat.
“Do you. . .want me to get the ball and let you hit me back?” Hinata suggests and Suga sighs.
“I don’t think that would be good. Kageyama, maybe Kiyoko should take you to the nurse’s office-”
“Kiss it!” Kageyama blurts out and the gym goes silent. Suga blinks and slowly starts to process just what is happening in his mind. Hinata steps back, confusion moving over his facial expression.
“What do I look like, your mom? Why would I kiss it?”
“Hinata, you dumbass!”
“What?! What did I do-owowowowOW!”
Kageyama was now squeezing Hinata’s head and Daichi was running over to pry Kageyama off of Hinata and send him to the nurse’s office while Suga placed a hand to his chin.
Was. . .was that Kageyama’s attempt at a flirt?
“The truth is, Mamiko-chan, is that even though me and Izumi-kun are extremely close, we are just good friends,” Kira-senpai says and places a hand on Mamiko-chan’s shoulder. “In fact, the truth is that he never stops talking about you. He is madly in love with you and I think you should go after him! I’ll be right behind you supporting you 100% of the way!”
Mamiko-chan gasps and feels her eyes welling up with tears. And to think that she could find such a wonderful ally in someone she thought was her enemy. She hugs the elder girl tightly.
“Kira-senpai, thank you so much for telling me! I’m so glad that I talked to you about my feelings!”
----------
“Kuroo, I think we’re being followed.”
Kuroo looks down at Kenma, who has put away his PSP and is now holding Kuroo’s hand tightly. Usually when they are walking around the mall, Kuroo will make all attempts to hold Kenma’s hand and Kenma will have them occupied with that blasted game system. The fact that Kenma actually put it away must mean that Kenma’s currently freaking out and can’t properly focus on his game.
He doesn’t know whether to feel worried about what's causing his boyfriend such distress, or slightly giddy that he is finally holding his boyfriend’s hand.
Kuroo looks over his shoulder anyways and doesn’t see anyone particularly suspicious looking following them.
“What makes you think that?”
Kenma rubs the back of his neck. “I just feel like. . .like something’s glaring at me.”
“Maybe we should hide in the bathroom. And if they follow us in there, start making out so they’d feel awkward and leave. Or we could make-out right now so they’d look away. Either way, we should make-out," Kuroo says, swinging their hands back and forth.
“You’re not taking this seriously, are you?” Kenma asks, exhausted already.
Kuroo shrugs and looks around again. Ah, well there is someone following them. He almost didn’t notice Karasuno’s setter in the midst of the crowd of people, but he notices how the younger boy is doing his hardest to keep up with them and currently running through the crowd while ducking around corners so he could remain unseen.
“It’s just Karasuno’s setter, not some creeper.”
“Why is he following us?” Kenma asks and Kuroo wraps an arm around Kenma’s shoulders.
“You want me to handle it?”
“Kuroo, don’t be embarrassing-”
“Why do you think I’m going to be embarrassing?”
“Because whenever you ‘handle things’, you do it embarrassingly,” Kenma says with his eyes cast towards the floor. Kuroo pouts and looks over his shoulder, seeing that Karasuno’s setter was now hiding behind a small cart.
“Oi! Why are you following us?!” Kuroo shouts out loud and Kenma puts his head into his hands. The younger boy jumps from his spot behind the cart and runs away so fast that he accidentally knocks a couple of people over. Kuroo clicks his tongue, he’ll have to call Sawamura and ask about why his setter was stalking him and his boyfriend on their day out. Feeling accomplished at spooking the younger boy away, Kuroo reaches down to hold Kenma’s hand only to grab air.
Kenma’s PSP is back out and Kenma is back to focusing all attention on the game in his hands.
“. . .Don’t you want to hold my hand?”
“No. Cause you’re embarrassing.”
“Oh, you come to me to ask for advice?” Kagura-hime, the well-loved and most popular girl in school laughs. Miho-chan nods her head slowly and wrings her skirt. She didn’t want to go to Kagura-hime for advice, but Miho-chan doesn’t have the faintest clue on how to ask Senpai out on a date. So, who better to ask than someone with as much experience and charm as the haughty girl before her?
----------
“Remember to just pick one, Takeru!” Oikawa calls out to his nephew, who immediately darts to the manga section of the library. Oikawa sighs and leans against the wall, updating his Facebook status to ‘hanging out at the library with my nephew!’ and attaches a cute selfie of him posing with the Doraemon figure by the children’s section. His post immediately gets dozens of likes from his female friends and Iwaizumi comments to ‘stop tagging him in all of his selfies, Shittykawa!’. Oikawa laughs to himself and slips his phone in his pocket, figuring he could read a magazine or something while he waits.
“O-Oikawa.”
Oikawa turns at the sound of someone calling his name, finding Kageyama staring at him from behind a bookcase clutching a book to his chest. Oikawa places a hand to his chest as if he just got scared out of his wits.
“Tobio-chan! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Oikawa whines and Kageyama approaches the setter, his face already ten shades of red.
“I-I need to ask you for a-advice,” Kageyama stutters out and Oikawa raises an eyebrow.
“Well, I can’t help you with anything volleyball-related since you’re my rival, Tobio-chan.”
“No, nothing like that. I. . .how do you. . .” Kageyama balls his hands into fists. “OIKAWA, HOW DO YOU PICK UP DATES?!”
The librarian hisses for Kageyama to be quiet and Kageyama’s mouth clamps shut as Oikawa looks at Kageyama in interest.
“You’re asking me for romantic advice?”
Kageyama gives a furious nod of the head yes. Oikawa thought he would never see this day come. His little Tobio-chan, coming to bug him about something other than volleyball. He didn’t even think Kageyama could feel attraction or romantic feelings for anything other than volleyball. Oikawa runs a hand through his hair and looks down at Kageyama. “Well, Tobio-chan. It doesn’t hurt to give the girls a little smile and wink everyone once in a while. Say a couple of pick up lines, girls love that too.”
“Pick up lines, smile and wink. Okay.” Kageyama says and Oikawa sighs.
“And try not to be so stiff.”
“Don’t be stiff. Thank you, Oikawa!” Kageyama blurts and places the book he was clutching in his grasp on the counter to run out of the library. Oikawa scratches his head, wondering just what the hell got into Kageyama to even want to ask Oikawa for love advice. He glances over at the counter at the book Kageyama was holding and blinks.
Why was Kageyama looking at Monthly Shoujo Tankobon Vol. 43?
“S-Suga!” Hinata shouts and stops the third-years from walking down the hallway any further.
“Hinata? What’s wrong?” Suga asks, Daichi and Asahi looking concerned as well. Hinata moves in close, like he is about to tell them a dreaded secret.
“I think Kageyama is still mad at me for hitting him in practice!” Hinata exclaims and Suga gives a gentle smile.
“What makes you think that?”
“Just now, he comes up to me and starts talking to me. And he was doing this. . .thing with his eye and he was smiling like this,” Hinata pauses to demonstrate, a disturbing smile etching onto his face as his right eye twitches every few seconds. Asahi looks rather mortified and Suga stifles a laugh as Hinata continues. “And then he asks me if I’m a ‘Tensee’! And then he got mad when I didn’t understand what he was saying! I mean, is he talking about my number?! I know I’m ten! I don’t know what to do!”
“Just relax. If he smiles and his eye is twitching like that, just smile back politely. And if he tells you you’re a ‘Tensee’, just say thank you.”
“But what is a ‘Tensee’?!”
“It’s a compliment.”
Hinata still doesn’t look like he fully understands, but Suga ruffles his hair and gives him a thumbs up. “Don’t worry about it! I’m sure that he’ll explain it eventually. Just give him some time,” he says with a smile and Hinata slowly begins to smile back. He nods his head and thanks Suga for the advice, dashing off down the other end of the hallway while Daichi looks at Suga in interest.
“What do you know about Kageyama that I don’t? Kuroo texted me saying that Kageyama was following him and his boyfriend around on their date,” Daichi explains.
“Maybe he was observing them,” Suga says with a thoughtful hum.
“Why was Kageyama spying on a couple?” Asahi asks and Suga smiles.
“I think he’s trying to learn a couple of pointers to ask someone out.”
“It’s really cold outside, Yuki-chan. . .here, you can borrow my jacket,” Senpai says and drapes the fabric around the smaller girl’s figure. Yuki-chan blushes, holding the jacket tight as Senpai walks along with her out the door. “Are you warm?”
“Mm!”
----------
“Good work today!” Hinata shouts to the teammates still changing, pulling his bag over his shoulder as he exits the room.
“Hinata!” Kageyama shouts and Hinata turns around. “Do you want to wear my jacket?!”
“. . .I’m, uh, I’m wearing my jacket right now so no?”
“. . .Oh.”
“. . .Bye, Kageyama?”
Kageyama turns and runs away, not even saying bye back. Hinata turns around and stands in place for a few moments before he slowly walks over to the bike racks to unlock his bike and go home.
Kageyama bangs his head against the vending machine as he sips his milk. He didn’t even realize Hinata was already wearing his jacket before he blurted that out. How stupid can he be! There has got to be an easier way for Hinata to realize his feelings for him!
“Oh, Kageyama! Don’t do that, you’ll hurt your head again!”
He looks up, seeing Suga walking alongside Daichi on their way home. Kageyama realizes that his forehead does hurt slightly and he gives it a sheepish rub.
“Sorry. I’m going home now, good work today,” Kageyama says in a rush and begins to leave, before Suga grabs his hand.
“You should tell him how you feel. I’m sure he feels the same way about you,” Suga says softly and Kageyama’s eyes widen.
“Y-You know?”
“Know what?” Daichi asks and Suga nods his head. Kageyama puts his face in his hands and groans aloud while Suga smiles.
“It’s alright, I don’t think anyone’s figured out yet. But instead of hurting yourself over it, you should just tell him. . .and by the way, the line is ‘Are you from Tennessee? Because you’re the only ten I see’.”
“T-That’s what I said! But I just got nervous on the last part! He didn’t understand me anyways, that stupid idiot,” Kageyama grumbles.
“Seriously, I have no idea what is going on right now,” Daichi speaks again to see if anyone was listening to him.
“A-Alright, Sugawara. I’ll tell him!”
“Great! Good luck!” Suga exclaims and Kageyama nods, turning on his heel and running away. Daichi looks at his friend and pouts.
“Are you going to tell me why you told Kageyama a pick-up line? Or what is going on with him?” Daichi asks and Suga smiles, giving his captain a pat on the head.
“You’ll figure it out soon enough.”
“Senpai, I’ve always loved you!”
“Really?”
“Yes! Whenever I see you, my heart can’t stop pounding! I can’t stand to see you with someone else and I cherish all the time that we spend together! Please, accept my feelings for you!”
----------
“Hinata.”
Hinata has grown accustomed to jumping whenever Kageyama calls his name as of lately. He slowly turns around, nervously looking at the taller boy looking down at him with furrowed eyebrows.
“Yeah?”
“I need to talk to you,” Kageyama says, his voice soft and quiet. Hinata pauses, not detecting any anger in Kageyama’s voice, so that must not have been what he wants to talk about. Maybe he’s going to finally explain just what a ‘Tensee’ is, like Suga had said to him before. Kageyama looks at him expectantly and Hinata tosses the volleyball he was holding off to the side.
“Let’s go,” Kageyama says, the two boys exiting out of the gym without anyone noticing and move to the clubroom. Hinata looks down at the ground awkwardly, his brain running through different scenarios as to what Kageyama would want to talk about. Is it about Hinata’s volleyball skills? Did the Grand King say something that got him upset? Or maybe Tsukishima egged him on recently and Kageyama wants to include him on his plot of revenge?
“Hinata,” Kageyama speaks again and Hinata looks over at Kageyama who looks like he’s about to throw up.
“Yeah?”
“. . .I. . .I. . .I really. . .I’m in. . .”
“Do you need to sit down? You’re getting really red-”
“Shut up! Don’t talk, I’m trying to focus!” Kageyama barks and Hinata jumps in his spot before frowning hard.
“Well you do look sick! Just sit down!” Hinata shouts and pushes Kageyama down into a chair. He grabs a water bottle from the mini-fridge in the clubroom and hands it to Kageyama, the raven-haired boy taking it with a begrudging thanks. Hinata sits down next to him and knocks his knees together. “You know, you’ve been acting really weird lately. Kenma told me you were following him around one day.”
Kageyama stiffens and squeezes the bottle. “I just. . .wanted to ask him about something.”
“Ask him what? About a game?”
“No. . .do you talk about me with him?” Kageyama asks quietly and Hinata blinks.
“What, like do I talk about you behind your back? Of course not! But if I’m talking about volleyball practice with Kenma, then of course you would come up in the conversation,” Hinata says simply and Kageyama nods in understanding. “Was that what you wanted to talk about?”
“No, I just. . .I feel. . .” Kageyama places his water bottle to his forehead and swears. “Why is this so hard?! Mamiko-chan can say it so easily!”
“. . .’Mamiko-chan’?”
“Forget it! I need to go home,” Kageyama blurts and gets up from the chair quickly and runs to grab his bag. Hinata makes a startled noise.
“Hold it! Where are you going?!” Hinata shouts and grabs a hold of Kageyama’s bag as he tries to run past him and the zipper splits open. Out spills a humongous pile of shoujo manga onto the floor, Kageyama’s mouth fallen open in a state of perpetual mortification as Hinata stares down at the girly copies of Love!Love!, High School Magical Romance!,and Onegai, Senpai!
“You’re. . .a closet otaku?”
“No!” Kageyama yells and flings himself over the mountain of manga so Hinata can stop staring at it. Hinata thinks back on the envelope that he found in his shoe locker. . .like it was a love confession. He remembers how Kageyama made him a bento and did that stupid thing girls in shoujo manga did to appear cutesy. He remembers the way how Kageyama got super ‘tsundere’ when Hinata didn’t pay any attention to what he wanted. . .a kiss. . .
Hinata’s eyes widen and he points a finger at Kageyama. “Have you been trying to confess to me by using shoujo manga as an example?!”
Kageyama’s words stumble out of his mouth in quick succession. “W-Well I don’t know how to do this sort of thing and who else was I supposed to ask and girls in shoujo manga always got the guy in the end-stop looking at me like that!!!” Kageyama drops his face down in the manga and screams while Hinata still stares in complete disbelief. On one hand, it was rather flattering that Kageyama researched so much into trying to woo Hinata. On the other hand. . .this is rather pathetic.
Hinata begins to laugh and Kageyama looks up at him, his mouth twisting into a pain-filled grimace. “Stop it! I brought you here to confess to you that I really like you and you’re laughing at me like a jackass!”
“Because it’s so funny!” Hinata laughs and sits on the floor. “All you had to do was tell me you liked me and you went through so much. Ah, maybe this was what Suga was talking about.”
“Yeah, he found out early when I tried to flirt with you during practice.”
“You mean when I hit you? That was flirting? I thought you were acting like a tsundere.”
“I wasn’t acting like a tsundere, dumbass!”
“See, now I don’t know whether you’re being a shoujo character or being serious.”
“Oh my god, stop making fun of me!” Kageyama screeches and Hinata laughs.
“Ok, I accept it.”
“Accept what?”
“Your confession, dummy.”
“What makes you think I want to date you now?! You’re too much work and you’re laughing at me!” Kageyama shouts and Hinata pouts.
“So you don’t want to date me? But aren’t I your beloved senpai in this scenario?”
“I’m going to murder you!” Kageyama shouts and lunges at Hinata. The two roll around on the floor a bit until Kageyama has Hinata pinned to the ground and is snarling over him. Hinata is still laughing and Kageyama’s blood pressure is continuously rising. Hinata looks up at Kageyama and places a hand to the boy’s cheek above him.
“I’m not laughing at you because I think what you did is stupid. I’m laughing cause I’m happy you’d do this much to show that you liked me,” Hinata says quietly and Kageyama bites the inside of his cheek.
“Of course I like you. I liked you for a long time,” Kageyama murmurs and Hinata smiles.
“I like you too,” Hinata says and Kageyama could feel his heart thudding against his chest. Hinata’s hand skits over his cheek and moves upwards to play with his hair idly, Kageyama’s eyes darting about nervously. Shit, what does he do now? Usually after the confession, the shoujo heroine and her love interest walk off into a bright glowing light and the chapter is over. Hinata hums and his hand rubs the back of Kageyama’s neck. “Well?”
“Huh?”
“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”
Kageyama sputters and Hinata pouts, still underneath Kageyama’s looming frame. “My little sister reads High School Magical Romance and she wouldn’t shut up about Chisaki and Jun finally kissing.”
“It’s Misaki and Jun.”
“Oh my god, how invested are you in these characters?”
“Shut up!” Kageyama yells and Hinata yanks Kageyama down for a kiss anyways. Something manga doesn’t tell you about is how to kiss, so Kageyama and Hinata’s first kiss is awkward, clumsy and Kageyama is positive that he accidentally bit down on Hinata’s lower lip hard enough to make it bleed. Hinata pulls away and licks his lower lip, checking for any cuts before he hums.
“We need practice. It’s okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
“. . .Okay.”
Hinata grins and Kageyama slowly smiles back.
The door swings open. “Oi! There you two are! Why did you two cut prac-”
There is a pile of manga on the floor and Kageyama is currently straddling Hinata. Hinata’s hand is resting on the nape of Kageyama’s neck and both boys looked rather flushed. Daichi immediately closes the door back and stands there for a few minutes as Suga comes up from behind him.
“Are they in there?” Suga asks and Daichi turns to him, blank expression on his face.
“Yes.”
“. . .Oh. Are they. . .” Suga connects his hands together like it's supposed to signify something and Daichi nods his head ‘yes’. Suga sighs and slaps a hand on Daichi’s shoulder. “Let’s leave them alone, okay?”
Daichi nods his head again and Suga leads his captain back to the gym.
“How did I not see that coming?” Daichi says in a daze and Suga smiles, giving him a playful nudge.
“That’s why you have me around.”
Kageyama and Hinata come out as a couple a few weeks later after the confession, to everyone’s not surprise. Well, everyone except for Noya and Tanaka, that really threw them for a curve ball, but were still congratulating their precious kohai for finding love. Tsukishima, being a little shit, brings back up the envelope and asks if that was Kageyama’s handy work, to which Kageyama admits to with an embarrassed flush.
“You wrote that?! No wonder you acted so weird!” Tanaka laughs.
“Why did you write it so scarily? It looked like some psycho wrote it,” Yamaguchi asks and Tsukishima snickers.
“No, it looked like one of those love-crazy girls in manga wrote it!” Noya exclaims.
(“You weren’t channeling a yandere when you wrote that, did you?” Hinata asks nervously and Kageyama hits the top of Hinata’s head.
“No! God, just drop it already!” Kageyama yells with a huff.)
After practice was over and everyone was dismissed, Hinata runs up to Kageyama and wipes the sweat from his brow.
“So are we still going to the movies this weekend?” Hinata asks and Kageyama nods his head. Hinata jumps and gives a loud shout. “Great! Er. . .we’re not going to see some romance movie or a horror movie, are we?”
“No. Why do you ask?”
Hinata twiddles his fingers. “Usually, that’s where the love interest takes the shoujo heroine to try something funny-”
“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“It’ll be a great story to tell if we get married,” Hinata beams and Kageyama looks away with a blush.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
Kageyama pulls the collar of his shirt up to his face. “Stop being cute,” he says to the inside of his shirt and Hinata pulls on bottom of Kageyama’s shirt.
“You stop being cute~” Hinata coos.
“How about you both stop being gross and take that somewhere else?” Tsukishima says as he passes by with Yamaguchi, and the couple screeches at him to shut up. Hinata releases his hold of Kageyama’s shirt and clears his throat, giving him a little smile.
“I’ll see you Saturday night!” Hinata says excitedly.
“O-Okay.”
“Okay,” Hinata smiles and Kageyama smiles.
“Okay.”
“Tsukishima is kind of right, you guys are rotting my teeth out.”
“Not you too, Daichi!” Hinata wails and Suga gives Daichi a playful punch to the shoulder before he waves at Kageyama and Hinata.
“Get home safe, you two!”
“We will!” Hinata and Kageyama shout in response and Hinata juts his thumb outside. “Let me get my bike ready,” Hinata explains and Kageyama nods his head. Hinata dashes out while Kageyama continues to help put away the balls and Yachi puts away the nets.
“Good work today,” she says to him as he passes by and he grabs her wrist.
“Er, Yachi, do you. . .have it?”
Yachi blinks and makes an ‘oh’ shape with her lips, running over to grab her bag by the wall and pulls out the fifth volume of DokiDoki Waitress. She hands the manga to Kageyama who takes it and smothers it to his chest. “Thanks, my. . .my little sister appreciates it!”
“Um, no problem? I’m pretty sure that’s the one where Sakura goes on the movie date with Kai,” Yachi says and Kageyama nods his head fervently. Kiyoko comes from the storage room, her bag on her shoulder and glances between the two underclassmen.
“Are you two leaving now?”
“Yeah! We got everything cleaned up!” Yachi says and Kiyoko hums.
“Let’s go before Tanaka and Noya think we’ve been kidnapped and run around screaming our names again,” Kiyoko says with a sigh and Yachi nods her head. The two girls say their goodbyes to Kageyama and leave the gym, Kageyama quickly sticking the manga in his bag to study for his and Hinata’s date.
Shoujo manga got him a boyfriend and, even though it’s extremely embarrassing and Kageyama prays that no one will find out what he’s doing or Hinata doesn’t find out he’s still doing it, they obviously have some clue about how this whole love thing works.
|
Lucifer falls silent as soon as Chloe finishes her sentence. Somehow he heard the words, but he’s unable to make sense of what just happened. When the meaning of what Chloe said finally registers, the Devil feels weak on his legs and has to sit down. He puts one hand on his piano and sits on the bench near it. He takes a few breaths, looking away from the Detective. Chloe looks straight at Lucifer, awaiting and, at the same, fearing his reaction. After a long minute, he finally stands up and makes his way to his bar, still avoiding Chloe’s gaze. He turns his back to her and grabs a glass behind the bar before filling it up entirely with the first bottle he can get his hands on. He empties it in one go and pours himself another one. Chloe can see his shoulders tensing up as he almost finishes the second glass. He finally turns around, his eyes full of hurt and anger.
“So I guess Nick wasn’t just a friend after all.” His tone is bitter.
She looks back at the Devil, not sure she heard correctly. “Did he just say what I think he did?” She mumbles. She puts her head back in her hands, trying to remain calm, her pregnancy test still in hand, the “+” mocking them both. “ One freak-out at a time. ” She tells herself. But before she gets a chance to give her own version of the story, Lucifer continues, making it harder and harder for her to remain calm.
“I guess your silence speaks louder than words then.” He looks back at her, the disgust now completing his features. “Or were there other ‘ friends’ ?” He finishes his drink. “You’re not even trying to deny it.” He finishes, half mumbling.
It was enough for Chloe and she snaps. In a blink she goes from calm and steady to fuming. She stands up and walks over to him. “Do you really think I would be dumb enough to come here and drop this kind of news on you if I wasn’t sure it was you?”
“It can’t be me.” He simply says. “I’m sterile, Detective.”
“And yet, here I am, at your place, late at night, telling you about this, and all you have to say about it is that I slept with other guys?”
“I think it’s best if you leave now, Detective.” He replies, his tone cold, barely hiding his anger and hurt.
“Really?” She couldn’t believe him. He has no right to even be jealous about her having other lovers given his record, and now he was just ignoring the whole problem until it went away on its own.
“Yes.” He avoids her eyes. “How can you be sure it’s mine.”
“I don’t know.” She replies, ironically. “Maybe because you’re the only one I’ve slept with in the last few months and also because you’re the one who said we didn’t need any protection.”
“Because we don’t! I’m the bloody Devil! I CAN’T reproduce!”
“Yeah, right. Different species!” She says, mimicking his accent. “Well your eagle has landed just fine, Lucifer.”
“What proof do I have it’s not Nick. I saw you leave the club together, and from what Maze told me, you invited him in for a coffee .”
“How do you know about that?”
“I asked Maze to inform me about it.”
“You had her spy on me?” She gets closer to him and Lucifer takes a step back. “I can’t believe you, you have no right to keep tabs on me and on who I see, and I have no explanation I need to give you about what I do in my free time when you’re the one who pushed me away to begin with!” She inhales deeply. “But since you want to know, yes he came in for coffee and yes, we fooled around, but you wanna why it didn’t go further?” She doesn’t wait for his reply. “I stopped it because each time he did something, I compared it to what you did! And I know you’re the father, because no one holds a fucking candle to you!”
The Devil still looks away from her. “It’s impossible! You’re lying!” He spits back. “I think you should leave.” He repeats.
“So that’s all you have to say to me?” He doesn’t reply. “Fuck you, Lucifer!” Chloe says as she walks past him, holding back her tears. “You and I are through, I’m done with all this. Don’t even bother coming to work, or talking to me. You’re dead to me!” Then she exits, leaving a sad and angry Devil on his own.
After Chloe left, Lucifer almost runs after her as what she said to him sinks in. Would he be able to live without her in his life? He didn’t think so. But all this could have been avoided if she just admitted she got carried away with Nick. Accidents happen, and he was even ready to help her out, but he wanted her to be honest. Why would she lie to him? Finally, he decides it’s best to wait for this whole thing to blow over. Chloe would come back to him in few days and they would resume their life as usual.
A day, then two and finally a week passes by - still no news from Chloe. He decides to cheat his boredom and gloomy questioning by dropping down to Lux, and maybe try to forget about all this with one of his guests. As he approaches the bar, the barmaid hands him his usual. He takes a sip and surveys Lux. Then he sees him - Nick. He makes his way to him with an extra drink in hand.
“You’re Nick. Right?”
“Who’s asking?”
“Lucifer Morningstar, owner of Lux.” He smiles at him. “I was wondering if you wanted to join me in the VIP section, some of my friends are feeling a bit lonely.” He shows him the Brittanies in his booth.
“I’d love to.”
As he sits, he looks deep into Nick’s eyes. “Is Chloe with you?”
“Nope. Haven’t seen her since that drink we had together.”
“What happened after you left my club?” He asks, not even needing to use his charms. Between the alcohol and the arousal the bloke felt, he was more than willing to overshare.
“She invited me in, we made out a little and then the bitch kicked me out, saying I wasn’t him , that I kept kissing her wrong, putting too much pressure, or not touching her right.”
“So nothing happened?”
“No! I mean I don’t know who this dude was, and I’d have been happy to be her rebound, but she was way too much into him for me!”
“Thank you for your cooperation.” He replies. “You should leave now.”
“But you said I could stay in here.”
“Well I’ve changed my mind.” Nick finally stands up. “And by the way, don’t ever come back to my club again.” Then he punches him - and to be honest, it felt good to finally let a part of his anger out. “And this was for calling her a bitch.”
He gets to his car and before starting the engine, takes out his phone to make a phone call. As soon as the woman on the other side picks up, he starts to talk.
“Hello?”
“I think I might have screwed up a bit, Doctor.”
“Lucifer?” Linda asks. “Is everything alright? It’s almost midnight.”
“I slept with the Detective.”
“Are you seriously calling me just to share this?”
“She says she’s pregnant.” He stops. “At first I thought she cheated on me with this Nick bloke, but she turned him down because he wasn’t me. But it’s impossible. She can’t be pregnant! I can’t have children.”
“Did she do the test?”
“Yes. She also said she was sure, because the only other time she was late was with Trixie.” He exhales loudly. “But I CAN’T father an offspring, nor do I want to. It’s impossible!” He repeats once again.
“Lucifer.” Linda says. “You need to calm down.” She hears his breathing slowing down. “Maybe, just maybe, Chloe isn’t only affecting your immortality.”
“What?”
“Have you ever thought she might also be impacting other aspects of who you are, like your sterility?”
“Impossible.” He answers, not convinced by his own reply.
“Think about it, Lucifer.” She says, her voice soft. “You’ve grown more human around her, losing your immortality the more you grew attached to her, so it’s entirely possible she made you human in more ways than one.”
“So she really might be pregnant with my future child?” He says.
“It’s a possibility.” She says. “What happened exactly?”
“I told her she was a liar - among other things.” He pauses. “And then she left saying we were through. I haven’t heard from her since. Even after the whole Candy thing, she still talked to me. What do I do now?”
“Well you’ve screwed up big time, but you should go talk to her.” She hears the engine of his Corvette start. “Lucifer? Do you want me to come over?”
“It’s fine. Thank you, Doctor. I’ve taken enough of your time as it is, good night.”
“Good night, Lucifer.”
Chloe’s place - Around 1am
As Lucifer parks in front of her apartment complex, he sees Maze going out the front door. He stops her.
“Maze.”
“What are you doing here?”
Lucifer lets out a breath. He had been fearing the meeting with Maze, but since she wasn’t trying to kill him, it meant Chloe had probably kept their whole situation to herself. “I’m here to see the Detective. Is she home?”
“Yes.”
“The Spawn?”
“Asleep, I think?” Maze looks at him. “Why the flowers?”
“Not your problem.”
“Okay. Good luck with your talk. Just so you know, Chloe’s been a bit on edge ever since last week. I wonder what’s gotten into her, would you have any insight on this?”
“Good night Maze!” He answers.
Then he walks over to the door. He decides against knocking and lets himself in. He puts the bouquet behind his back, takes a deep breath and walks in. Chloe turns around, expecting anyone but him.
“That was a quick bounty, or did you forget some…” Her features change immediately when she sees Lucifer. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here to talk.” He says.
“Well, I don’t want to. I thought I told you to stay out of my life.”
“I brought you flowers.” He says, smiling, as he shows her the bouquet.
“Well in that case,” Chloe says as she grabs the tulips. She goes to her kitchen and throws them into the bin. “The answer is still a big fat NO!” She walks past him “You let yourself in, you can see your way out.”
“What do you mean ‘No’?” He asks ignoring her last comment.
“You know, it’s a two-letter word, usually used to express a refusal to a question or a request. Could also be replaced by ‘Go to Hell’ or ‘Fuck off’. But you’re Satan, Master of all tongues, I’m surprised you don’t know this one.”
“I know what ‘no’ means.” He says. “But why are you saying no?”
“You’re unbelievable.” She simply says.
“Is it because of our little discussion from the other day?”
“‘ Our little discussion ’?” She turns on her heels and walks to him. “You’ve really got some nerve, coming here, expecting me to be all nice to you.” Lucifer opens his mouth, but Chloe continues before he can get any sounds out. “I haven’t slept for a week because of YOU and your supposed sterility, and because I kept wondering what to do with this situation!” She’s very close to his face now. “And did you forget you called me a liar right after I told you none of them compared to you. And even IF I had decided to have sex with him, you have NOTHING to say to me regarding this, given your record.” Her fingers poke at his chest with each word. “And now, you dare to show your face in here, when I explicitly told you I didn’t want to see you EVER again, because you broke my heart, once again.” She takes a breath. “So when I tell you that we’re done. Our duo is over and…”
Lucifer looks at Chloe, her words cutting him deeper than any demonic daggers ever could. He focuses on her lips, but none of her words register. All he can think of is her fingers on his chest, her breath close to his face. He searches for words to make her understand that she means the world to him, but can’t find any. He was usually good with words, but when it came to her, he was speechless. So instead he does the only thing he can think of, and the only thing he’s good at, no matter what. He closes the distance between them and kisses her deeply - stopping her angry tirade, and runs his tongue over her lips, prying them open softly. Despite her anger and her surprise at his move, she opens her lips and welcomes his kiss. She answers his kiss with equal fervor, their tongues battling for dominance. Everything she feels is heightened because of her anger and her frustration, and she can’t help but moan as he lifts her up in his arm to bring them to the dinner table, his groin pushing against her. Chloe bites his lower lip, enough to make him feel some pain, but not enough to draw blood and Lucifer lets out a low growl as he puts her down on the table, sending everything on it to the floor to make room for them. Lucifer’s hands reach Chloe’s jeans, opening them and tugging them down, her shirt just opened so he has access to her breasts. His fingers reach her center and he feels her arousal. This sends a new strike of desire to his groin and he feels his shaft twitch in the confine of his trousers - which were getting way too small for comfort. His eyes flash red as he feels Chloe’s hands on his chest, opening up his shirt, before pushing his trousers down his ankles. Both of them very happy he decided to go commando for this one. His member is so rock hard, it’s almost painful. All the anger, tension, frustration and hurt of the last few days dissolving into thin air as their desire rises. Chloe grabs his cock and strokes it a few times before aligning it with her center. He pauses right before he enters her.
“Trixie?” He breathes into her ear, not able to say more than one word at a time.
“At her Dad’s.” Chloe answers, as she moves her hips to get him moving.
He happily complies with her request and enters her in one smooth movement. He forces himself to remain still, despite the urgency between them both, and his need to chase his release. None of them were going to last long. Once Lucifer is sure Chloe is ready, he starts to thrust into her, slowly at first, but soon, he can’t help it and his pace speeds up. He might have been bad at talking about how he felt, but he could at least try to show her. Surprise is written all over his face when he already feels the tell-tale signs of his impending orgasm. He feels Chloe is also close to her end, if the movements of her hips meeting him thrust for thrust, chasing her own peak as well, are any clues. Lucifer helps her along, knowing only a few more thrusts will push him over, and brings two of his fingers on her love nub, as his mouth sucks one of her nipples. He thrusts into her one last time and feels his orgasm course through him as he growls into her ear, unable to form words for now. Chloe follows him soon after, her nails digging into his shoulders as her feet link behind his back to bring him deeper. Once Chloe’s done with the last wave of her release, he falls down beside her, panting. It takes the two of them a few moments to catch their breaths. Chloe snuggles into Lucifer’s shoulder and they both look at each other, unable to hold their laughter. Lucifer is the first one to speak.
“That’s one way to solve a conflict. Make love, not war, is it?”
“Lucifer, that doesn’t mean all is good and back to normal.”
“I know.” He answers. “And we’ll talk, I promise.” He presses his center to her thigh and she feels him almost ready again. “But maybe, we can talk in the morning and enjoy tonight, and also, remove the rest of our clothing?” He finishes as he wiggles his feet with his trousers dangling.
“It’s almost 2:30 am, it’s already morning.”
He kisses her to shut any other counter arguments she might have had. He trails his mouth down her body before dropping a kiss on her navel, standing up and holding out his hand, as he pulls his trousers back up.
“Should we move this to the bedroom? I believe I need to apologise a bit longer before we talk.”
Chloe sits up, steps out of her jeans, but keeps her panties on and leads Lucifer to her bedroom. The Devil happily follows her, enjoying the view. By the time he steps into her room, Chloe, just like he did, discarded her shirt somewhere, her boy shorts and his trousers the only garments remaining. She walks back towards her bed and Lucifer follows her, looking like a lion about to pounce on its prey. As she looks at him, Chloe can’t help but shiver as she sees the fire in his eyes. When her knees hit the outside of her bed she stops and climbs on top of it. She stands on her knees and as Lucifer approaches her she grabs the hem of his trousers to bring him closer. She’s now almost the same height as the Devil and she moves her hands from the front of his trousers to his ass, squeezing it. Lucifer kisses her and reluctantly removes her hands from his body. Chloe whimpers at the loss of contact, but her disappointment is short-lived as Lucifer pushes her gently on the bed, bringing her arms above her head. His lips move up to her ear and he takes her earlobe into his mouth.
“Now let me love you, Chloe!” He smiles. “And I believe you’re wearing far too many clothes, Darling.” He adds.
His mouth moves along her jawline and neck before nipping at the clavicule to reach the top of her sternum. He places a wet kiss there, before trailing down to stop between her breasts. He lingers for a moment, enjoying the taste of her skin and changing between blowing hot air and placing wet kisses, not quite reaching for her nipples yet. Chloe’s fingers leave their spot above her head and she tangles one hand in his hair while the other grabs the sheet somewhere at her side. Despite her very strong and recent satisfaction, she can already feel the pressure building again and she moans as she feels his hands cup her breasts, almost as if he weighed them. Then he slowly circles in and barely caresses her nipples. He lowers his mouth while he rolls her perky nipples between two of his slender fingers. The lower his mouth goes, the tighter Chloe grips his hair and the silk sheet of his bed. She doesn’t even bother to try to contain the whimpers and moans escaping her. This time, as opposed to earlier when all he wanted was to feel her, the Devil takes his time, enjoying every inch of her skin, lingering on her sweet spots, even discovering some new ones on the way down. Chloe lets out a squeak, mixed with a low moan as his tongue lick over a tiny spot right above her left hip bone. Lucifer chuckles when he hears and feels her reaction.
“You make such lovely noises, Darling!”
He breathes against her skin, as he nibbles at this new spot he found. He trails his fingers down her long leg until he reaches her feet, then goes back up through the inside of her thigh, before showing the same attention to her other leg. The combination of his touch and his hot mouth on her skin, lightly scratching her, sends a new wave of arousal down her core and she arches her back seeking his touch. The Devil relishes in the small whimpers and sighs coming out of the Detective, and he can’t help the thrust of his hips against the mattress.
“Shut up!” She says, unable to contain her laughter as Lucifer moves his mouth above her hip again. She looks down at him, enjoying - more than she should - the sight of the Devil pleasuring her, and looking at her as if she was the most precious thing in this world. “I thought you were supposed to love me, not tease me endlessly.”
“So impatient, Lucifer likes.” He replies as his fingers barely brush her panties. “Besides, isn’t this part of the fun?” He brings his mouth over her center and blows. Even through her shorts, he can feel her arousal, the smell is intoxicating. Her voice brings him back to the present.
“Lucifer…” She pleads.
“Yes?” He asks, looking as innocent as he could in his situation.
Chloe can’t help the new wave of arousal hitting her as she sees his boyish grin, contrasting with the lust in his eyes. “Please…”
“Please what, Darling?”
“You know what!” She answers as she tugs at his hair, trying to bring him where she wants him most.
“Actually, I’m not sure.” He brings her panties just a tad lower. “Do you want my tongue, my lips, my fingers,” he brings his mouth back to her ear and his voice drops low, barely above a whisper, “my cock?” He finishes, before trailing his lips down once more, this time bringing her boy shorts along with him. “So many possibilities…” He finishes. He kisses his way up her legs and blows on her center, as one finger teases her opening. “So which one is it going to be, Love?”
Chloe moans loudly and playfully slaps him behind his head. “Just…” She takes a deep breath. “Get on with it!”
“Dealer’s choice, I see.” He answers, enjoying this situation way too much, already thinking about her revenge for his teasing.
He stops any reply Chloe might have had by finally putting his mouth to good use on her love nub, his tongue making complicated, but wonderful patterns on her core. When he finally slows down, Chloe is arching under his mouth; her fingers holding the bed sheets tight. Lucifer groans at her noises, and his shaft presses harder into the mattress, mirroring the movements of his tongue on her center. As he feels her near her peak, he applies more pressure on her mound to bring her right to the edge before inserting one long finger in, keeping her right on the brink of orgasm. His ministrations aren’t enough to push her over, but yet are tantalising enough to keep her going. Chloe moves her hips to increase the pressure and the rhythm, but Lucifer simply chuckles at her enthusiasm.
“Eager, Love, are we?”
“Gnhnhn!” Chloe replies, now unable to form any coherent thoughts under his expert touch.
He laughs as he removes his fingers and mouth from her. Chloe whimpers at the loss. “Well, I need to remove my trousers if you want me to ‘Get on with it’, as you said.” He grins.
In a blink, his trousers are now discarded on the floor at the foot of the bed and his swollen head teases her entrance. But before he finally enters her, Chloe takes him by surprise and switches their position, so she’s now straddling him.
“Nice move, Darling.” He says, truly impressed.
Chloe considers teasing him, just as he teased before, but she realises she doesn’t want to, at least not tonight. She’s too far gone to have the necessary skills to get back at him, so she takes a breath to calm her nerves and tries to get her arousal under control.
“I’m just making sure you’re done with your teasing.” She answers.
She drops her head and kisses him deeply, increasing the pressure of the kiss as she sinks on his member. Lucifer lets her set the pace and simply put his hands on her hips, guiding her slightly. The pace, at first slow and teasing, soon turns frantic as the both of them, lost in each other, run after their pleasure. When they finally reach it, Lucifer falls back into the pillow as he pumps one last time and Chloe follows him soon after, throwing her head back. Once they both recovered and descended from their peak, Lucifer brings Chloe to his chest, holding her to him.
Chloe chuckles, still enjoying the afterglow. “Afraid I’ll escape again?”
“Nope, I just like having you nuzzled against me like this.” He replies, kissing her softly.
“So do I.” She snuggles further into him. “Who would have thought the Devil was an ace cuddler.”
“I’m an ace at everything, Detective!”
“Good night, Satan.” She replies, as she dozes off to sleep.
“‘Night Chloe.” He answers, before entering Morpheus’ realm soon after.
Chloe’s place - Around 9am
As Chloe wakes up, she pats the other side of the bed, suddenly feeling cold without him by her side. For a moment she wonders if he freaked out on her again and left. She puts her old LAPD training t-shirt on and heads for her kitchen, eager to see if Lucifer was there. Her worries vanish as the lovely smell of pancakes, coffee and bacon fills her nose. She silently walks up to Lucifer and enjoys the cute sight of the Devil, relaxed, cooking and fussing over her stove, knowing exactly where everything is. Humming what sounded like Simply the Best from Tina Turner, Lucifer turns around, two plates in hand and almost drops them as he sees Chloe, not expecting her. Chloe’s opinion of the situation goes from cute to hot as Hell as she sees him naked down to the waist, his dress trousers low on his hips, and wearing her blue ‘ Kiss the cook ’ apron.
“Good morning.” She says as she kisses him.
“Indeed it is.” He replies, smiling. “I was just about to join you upstairs to bring breakfast to you, but since you’re here...” He puts the two plates down on the counter and kisses her again, then he smiles.
“What?” Chloe asks.
“I knew your apron would be useful at some point.”
Chloe rolls her eyes, but still laughs as she realises that she indeed just kissed the cook. She gives him one last peck before she sits down and grabs one of the cups of coffee. She immediately digs into her plate and they enjoy the rest of their breakfast in an easy silence. Once they’re done, Lucifer takes their plates away and wraps his arms around her, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. Chloe enjoys the feeling for a while before turning in his arms, looking straight into his soft hazel eyes. She almost forgets about what she was about to say as she sees the look of adoration in his gaze. She gives him a small smile, as she looks at the mess around the dining table.
“So… We got a bit carried away last night.” She starts.
He grins. “Indeed, I hope you weren’t too fond of your dishes. Almost tidied up this morning, but I liked the memory of what we did there, so I decided to leave our work of art as it was.”
“You do know we’re gonna have to clean all of this before Trixie comes back. And although it was very intense,” she looks away, slightly blushing “I don’t want to have to explain to my daughter, AND her dad what happened here and how half of my dishes ended up on the floor.”
“Do you want me to leave before your Offspring comes back?”
“Nice try, Lucifer.” She says as she leads him to the couch. “But you and I have to talk about a few things. You’re now a part of my life, and that includes Trixie. No running away for you anymore, I finally have you and I’m not letting go any time soon!”
“If you insist, Darling.” He answers, giving her a wide smile, not merely matching the joy he felt in his chest as he heard her words.
They both sit down, Chloe curling into Lucifer’s embrace, her arm wrapping around his stomach. He tightens his grip around her shoulders.
“So....” He starts, uneasy. “I’m sorry, Darling, but I have to ask.” His shoulders tense a bit. “Are you sure you’re pregnant?”
“Yes.” She answers him, remaining calm. “The blood test I did came back positive.”
He nods. “And you’re also sure the hormone variations aren’t because you might be hitting your menopause, or something.”
“Hey!” She says, as she slaps his chest. “I’m 35, you dumbass!”
“Okay.” He says, rising his free hand in surrender. “I was covering all the possibilities.” He brings her closer to him once again. “So what do you want to do?”
“You mean, do we keep it?” He nods. “To be honest, a normal pregnancy is scary to begin with and you’re the Devil, so this is an unprecedented situation.” She smiles at him. “Who knows, maybe I’m growing the antichrist right now.” Lucifer simply stares back at her. Chloe’s features turn serious. “I’m NOT growing the being who’s going to destroy the world, am I?”
Lucifer finally breaks his serious face and laughs. “No, Darling, you’re not growing the destroyer of the world. Although, this tiny being might have some special abilities.”
“You’re an ass!” She tells him, and continues before he can tell her something along the lines of ‘ But I’m your ass ’. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about not keeping it, but I think we can work all this out. What do you think?”
He clears his throat. “Well. I came to term with the fact I’d never have a spawn of my own, not that I wanted any at the time, and to be honest, I’m scared to death with this whole situation.” He looks at her, making sure she understands what he means. “But one thing is certain, with you by my side, we can accomplish anything.”
“How did you come to this conclusion?” Chloe asks, still feeling the sting of pain as he rejected her. “You seemed rather certain about the whole situation before.”
“I saw Nick at the club and he told me what happened.” He looks away, a bit ashamed that he didn’t believe her. “And Linda helped a lot as well.”
“What would you do without her, right?”
“You have no idea.” He smiles. “But I also realised something on my own, thanks to my little chat with Nick.”
“What did you realise?” She asks, curious.
“Even though Daddy Dearest put you on my path, thus probably forcing you to have some sort of attraction towards me, or at least I thought you did…”
“Lucifer, no one is forcing me to like you!”
“I know. Nick made me realise that. If you had been forced to have feelings for me, you wouldn’t have been attracted to this pathetic human. So I now know you have free will as to who you choose.”
“What did you mean when you said G…, your father put me in your path?”
“I guess, I should explain.” He agrees with her. “To be quick, my father sent Amenadiel to bless your parents when they were unable to conceive a child. Because of my brother’s handy work, you’re now immune to my charms and make me mortal.”
“Did Amenadiel had to sleep with…”
“Father NO!” He says, his face disgusted. “He simply blessed them.”
“OK. So without him, I wouldn’t have existed at all?”
“Yes. It appears my dad had all his pieces on the chess board before the game even began.”
“You said I make you mortal?”
“Yes. Around you my immortality, as well as my sterility, if the current situation is any proof, are annulled.”
“So that time in the hangar with Malcolm, you did die?” He nods. “And after my poisoning?” He nods again. “Wow.” She simply says, as she realises to what extent he went to keep her safe. “Why did you stay around me then?”
“I couldn’t stay away from you, even after Vegas, I just couldn’t see my life without you in it.”
“And yet you married a stripper.”
“Exotic dancer.“ He corrects her. “Beside, Candy was only a distraction and a way for me to give you a choice about who you want to be with. We never consummated the wedding, we simply became unexpected allies.” He looks at her, “But I’m not sure Dad planned on me fathering a spawn at some point.”
“I guess we’ll see.” She replies. “Regarding the pregnancy, I want to keep it between us for now, at least until the first echography, and until I’ve talked to Dan and Trixie about it, and maybe the Lieutenant.” She leans into him. “That’s goes for us as well.”
“Sure.” He says, seeing the term ‘us’ in a brand new light. “One thing though.”
“What?”
“Can I be here when you tell the Douche, I mean Daniel? I’d love to see his face.” He grins.
She doesn’t answer him, but she kisses him, trying to convey how she feels right now. The kiss intensifies very quickly and soon she’s straddling his hips, Lucifer’s fingers going under her t-shirt, his little devil almost fully awake now. Their moment is broken by Chloe’s ringtone. She answers as Lucifer’s fingers still tease her soft skin.
“Hi Dan.” She says, concentrating on her call, trying to ignore Lucifer’s touch. “Sure.” She says. “Just bring Trixie around when you can, I’m home.” Lucifer groans as he hears the news. Chloe look apologetically at him as she hangs up. “Dan is dropping Trixie in about 30 minutes. He has to take a shift for someone.”
“It’s okay.” He says, as she climbs off his lap. “Why don’t you go get ready for your spawn’s arrival, and I’ll clean the beautiful artwork we created last night.”
“Thank you, Lucifer.” She gives him one last kiss before heading for her shower.
Chloe’s place - 30 minutes later
Just as Lucifer was putting the last of the dishes in the bin, Dan comes into the apartment with Trixie by his side. As soon as the girl sees the Devil, she runs to him, squealing, crashing into his legs. The first reaction of the Devil is to step away from the hurricane running towards him, but he suddenly remembers he better get used to sticky fingers and awkward hugs. He weirdly taps Trixie on the head and flinches ever so slightly as Trixie tightens the grip of her hug.
“I missed you so much, Lucifer!”
“Yeah, I know. I tend to have this effect on people, Offspring.” He pauses. “But it’s good to see you too, Spawn.”
Trixie laughs at his comment. “Where’s Mom?”
“In her room I think.”
She looks suspiciously at him. “Did you guys have a sleepover?”
Lucifer chuckles. “I was over, but I didn’t sleep, at least during the night. Just a few hours in the morning. Does that count?”
“Nope, you have to spend the whole night over.”
“Then I guess we didn’t have a sleepover then.” He replies, quite proud of how he dodged her question without lying. “Now, why don’t you go upstairs to check on the Detective?”
“Moooooooooom! I’m home!” Trixie says, as she runs upstairs.
Once Trixie is out of sight, Dan comes closer to Lucifer.
“What are you doing here, Lucifer?”
“I came here to talk to the Detective about a case of my own. I needed her, and since she seemed to be rather busy in the day, I decided to drop by early today.” He looks at Dan. “Looks like we had the same idea.” He adds, ironic.
“Did I interrupt anything?”
“Aren’t you always?” He taunts him. “Coffee?”
“Very funny.” He answers. “Coffee would be nice.”
Lucifer hands him a new cup of coffee and the two men just stand there, in awkward silence, as they sip at their cups. Chloe finally comes down the stairs, breaking the silence.
“Hi Dan.” Then she turns to Lucifer. “I see you found the coffee maker…”
“Hey Chloe.” Dan says. He finishes his coffee. “I gotta run, my shift starts soon. I’ll see you at work.”
Dan grabs Trixie and brings her into a hug. He sits her on the dining table as he gets his sunglasses from her angelic face. Before Lucifer can say anything, the table cracks and breaks down, with Trixie still on it, looking surprised before she giggles widely. Lucifer and Chloe exchange a knowing look before laughing as well. Dan helps Trixie up and looks at Chloe confused.
“Chloe, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine Dan, I’ll just buy a new one. It must have had some sort of manufacturing defect.”
“Maybe try to buy a less breakable one, Detective.” Lucifer adds, a huge smile on his face. Chloe rolls her eyes. Lucifer grabs his jacket, “I’m off as well. I got meetings at Lux. I’ll see you later.”
Then Dan and Lucifer exits, leaving Chloe and Trixie smiling.
|
Levi didn’t know why he was sitting on Petra’s living room floor, binge-watching How I Met Your Mother and eating ice cream when he should’ve been at Erwin’s trial, offering his support. In fact, he didn’t even know why he was eating ice cream, at noon no less, or why Petra had immediately broken out the beer.
Nothing was confirmed yet. He wasn’t done yet. He and Erwin weren’t done yet. Why were his friends, who had so readily accepted this addition to his life, so quick to throw him away, too?
This was wrong. The longer he sat there, the more the shock gave way to determination, as Levi realized that accepting everything without question would be no different from betraying Erwin. Erwin was so good to him. He deserved to be given the benefit of the doubt—innocent until proven guilty—before Levi should even begin to get angry.
He'd gotten a text when he and Hange had dropped by his house to get him into comfortable clothes. He'd been too dazed to check his phone then, but he pulled it out now.
It was a message from Erwin, right before his trial was scheduled to start:
The BF: Levi, I don’t see you anywhere. Are you coming?
And that was it.
But of course, it made sense that that was all Erwin said. What had Levi been expecting, an essay on why he’d been kissing Marie? How stupid.
He thought about how to reply, but before he could come up with half a coherent sentence, his phone buzzed in his hand. Hange and Petra immediately whirled around, a mixture of anxiety and anger and fear in their faces that had nothing to do with how Ted was screwing up his millionth date. Levi might've found it comical another time.
The BF: Levi, the trial is over and I still don’t see you anywhere. Did I maybe miss you?
He stared at the words. What was he even supposed to say at a time like this?
You: no i didnt go
The BF: Oh, I thought you said you were coming? You could’ve told me if you were busy.
You: yeah sry. how was it
The BF: I think I performed to the best of my ability. Where are you right now?
You: petras
The BF: Petra’s house? Did something happen?
You: no
Levi clenched his jaw. Shit, he had to do something.
You: can we talk
The BF: Sure. There’s actually something that I need to talk to you about as well. Where would you like to meet?
Erwin wanted to talk to him about something. No emoticons. His stomach lurched. He shouldn’t have eaten all that ice cream, after all.
You: ur place?
The BF: All right. See you in ten?
You: k
Levi climbed to his feet. “I have to go,” he declared. Hange and Petra jumped up with him.
“Erwin?” Hange asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where are you going?” Petra said, worrying her lip.
“His place.” He headed for the door, his friends trailing after him.
“Call if you need us, okay?” Hange said, patting him on the shoulder, and Petra nodded frantically. Levi tried to muster a smile, but only his cheek twitched.
“Yeah. See you.”
His hand hovered over the doorbell. He didn’t know why he was being such a little bitch, because honest to God, he still didn’t believe that Erwin would go behind his back.
But it hurt, seeing him kiss someone else.
He pressed the button.
A stomp-stomp-stomp came from inside before the door cracked open. Erwin was still in his suit, the knot of his tie pulled half-way down, hair immaculate. Levi stared at his mouth, wondering if he’d find any traces of lipstick, but there were none.
“Levi,” Erwin said shortly and moved aside. “Right on time. Come in.”
Levi stood there, blinking. He’d braced himself for an excessive display of affection, customary of meetings with the blond after they hadn't seen each other in at least a couple days, but Erwin wasn't even really smiling.
“Thanks,” he muttered, stepping in so Erwin could close the door. He paused at the landing, unsure if he should go further inside, but Erwin brushed past him and headed straight for the living room. He glanced back when he noticed that Levi wasn’t following him.
“You’re not coming in?” he asked.
“Ah. Uh. I am.” Levi pulled his shoes off and stepped over the landing. He followed Erwin to the couch and sat on the end closer to the door while Erwin settled down on the other side.
“So, you said you wanted to talk about something?” the blond asked, his fingers laced in his lap.
Levi shifted and crossed his arms. “Yeah, but you can go first.”
“No, it’s fine. You go first,” Erwin said, the corners of his mouth pulling down. “Mine will probably take a while.”
“Okay.” Levi took a deep breath. In, out. He looked Erwin straight in the eye. “I saw you and Marie kissing this morning.”
Erwin's eyes went wide, the blood draining from his face. Levi watched his entire body stiffen. “You saw that?” he said shakily.
Levi nodded. The blond's reaction made the black hole in his stomach grow, but he pressed on. “I'm assuming I saw wrong. Or that there's another explanation.”
Erwin’s mouth snapped shut, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. His lips parted, but nothing came out. Levi waited patiently, the wall clock’s ticks thunderous in his ears, but he couldn't be bothered to count them. An eternity passed before Erwin’s face fell. He shrank into himself, his hands trembling.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Levi’s heart jumped once, and then it was slamming against his rib cage. “You’re...sorry?”
“I’m sorry,” Erwin repeated, looking down at his lap. “I. I will not make any excuses.”
“What?” Levi's fingertips went cold. He couldn’t feel his feet or the weight of his head. “What?”
Erwin was gritting his teeth so hard Levi could see a vein popping in his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait. Wait, wait, wait.” Levi laughed. “I don’t understand what you’re apologizing for. So you’re telling me that I didn’t make a mistake? That was a kiss I saw between you two? Like, a real one?”
Erwin audibly inhaled. Levi held his breath, but the blue eyes he was boring into closed, blocking him off.
“Yes.”
His arms slowly fell to his sides.
This couldn’t be happening.
This could not be happening.
“So...you two were really kissing?” Levi said quietly.
Erwin breathed out. “Yes. I’m...sorry you had to see it, but that is the reality of the situation.”
“Why?” Levi murmured.
Erwin didn't answer.
“Why?” he said again, louder.
“I—” Erwin’s voice cracked. “I have nothing more to say.”
Levi blinked at him.
His chest hurt. It hurt so much. There were many things he wanted to ask.
Why aren’t you explaining anything to me?
Am I not worthy of even an explanation?
Were you with her while you were with me?
How long have you been lying to me?
Why did you choose me?
Why didn’t you choose me?
Am I not good enough for you?
...Am I not good enough?
But he said none of those things. Instead, what burst from his throat was, “How could you?” Erwin flinched like the words had been a physical blow. “Why? You don’t have anything else to say?”
Erwin closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“What the fuck does ‘I’m sorry’ even mean?!” Levi shouted, grabbing a cushion and hurling it to the ground.
He stared at Erwin, at his wobbling chin, his quivering hands, the weakness of him, and fury erupted from his chest like an age-old dam had broken, so easily shattered by a couple of words. And it was so fucking unfair, because why did his heart have to ache for how small Erwin looked in this moment? What right did Erwin have to even feel sadness right now? Erwin had ruined it all. He was the one who had ruined it.
Levi stumbled to his feet. His breaths were harsh, but he did not feel the urge to cry. He felt cold from head to toe, but the rage burning in his chest kept him upright. “I misjudged you, Erwin Smith.”
Erwin’s breath hitched, and he was trembling all over now, but his gaze stayed glued to his lap. Levi stared down at the crown of his blond head.
“You can throw my toothbrush away,” he said calmly. Erwin’s head shot up and the muscles in his arms flexed as if he was trying to reach out, but his hands might as well have been chained together with how tightly they were clasped, white and shaky. The look on his face made Levi want to take him into his arms and shush him, tell him everything would be all right.
He averted his gaze, and strode towards the entryway. Silently, he pulled on his shoes, and then without another look back, he opened the front door.
“Goodbye, Erwin,” he said, and shut it behind him with a final click.
Levi made it to the bus somehow. Despite his earlier bravado, he was a little out of it, and his head hurt. But he didn’t want to think about anything anymore.
It was only one pm when he got home. Strangely early, considering how long the day had felt.
“Hey, thought you were staying at Petra’s,” Kenny said from in front of the TV. He was watching Iron Chef. Levi had always thought it odd that he liked watching cooking shows when he couldn’t cook to save his life.
“Yeah, well, I’m back.” He trudged up the stairs to his room.
For some reason, he paused when he got to the doorway, and took a good look inside. This was the room he'd been living in for, what, over ten years? He looked at his bed, the chest of drawers beside it. Across from it, his desk was cleared off, empty of everything except his shoulder bag, laptop, a couple pens, pencils, and erasers. His dark blue curtains were parted to the side, window open to cool the warm room. During late spring and summer, it often got so stuffy here on the second floor that it had become habit for Levi to keep his window open. But he didn’t remember opening it this morning. Maybe Kenny had done it for him.
He sat on his bed. The mattress had always been just a bit too soft for his liking, but that was particularly true today. The crows outside cawed in chorus, noisy as ever.
His room was familiar, and still his, but different now. Like a lot of other things.
He didn't know what to do. There was nothing to do. His online massage course wouldn’t start for another week, so he didn't have anything to study. His only plans for today had been to...no, he didn’t have any plans. He literally had nothing to do. Usually, he’d gossip with Hange and Petra on Facebook when he got this bored, but he wasn’t in the mood right now.
Fuck. There had to be something he could use to entertain himself with. Levi rolled off his bed and went back downstairs, stopping beside the couch.
“Hey, anything you want me to do?”
Kenny glanced at him. “Uh, not really. Are you talking about chores?”
“Yeah. Or anything else.”
“I don’t know. You do all the chores on your own so I never know what’s going on.”
Levi sighed and cocked a hip. “What about the garage? Or the yard?”
“Pretty neat, I guess. You could mow the lawn if you want. Why, you bored?”
“Isn’t that obvious?” Levi grunted. “Whatever, I’ll find something. By the way, what do you want for dinner?”
Kenny finally looked away from the TV and gaped at him. “You’re asking what I want to eat?”
“Well, what the fuck else do you do during dinner besides eat?”
“You always just cook whatever the hell you want.”
Levi quirked an eyebrow. “I was thinking of cooking a shit-ton of super fucking fantastic food today, so I was gonna include something you wanted, but if not, then whatever, your loss.”
“Sushi!” Kenny cried, gripping the back of the couch as he stared imploringly up at Levi. “Your handmade sushi.”
On the TV, the cook was molding what looked like sticky rice between his fingers. Levi rolled his eyes. “Gee, I wonder why.”
“So that’s a yes?” Kenny grinned.
“Yeah, yeah, okay. Sushi, it is. I’m gonna go look for something productive to do now.”
“Sure, whatever you want.”
Levi pulled on the old pair of sneakers he used for outside work. The temperature was low enough that he could comfortably mow the lawn even when the sun was high in the sky, as long as he kept a cap and sunglasses on. Tying a handkerchief around his nose, 'cause ugh, pollen, he pulled the lawnmower out of the garage.
He was sweating by the time he'd finished mowing their front and back lawn. Pulling off his makeshift mask with a flourish, he fanned himself, blowing hair out of his face. Maybe this would be a good time to give the gutters a cursory hose-through as well.
He hauled out the ladder, propping it against the roof. Its obnoxious clanking had Kenny ambling outside, shielding his eyes against the sun.
"What are you doing?" Kenny yelled.
"Cleaning our fucking disgusting gutters!" Levi called back.
"It's fine to clean them once a year, you know! Wouldn't it be better to do it in the fall?"
"Whatever, I'm free right now anyway so might as well!"
Kenny just shrugged and drifted back inside.
The gutters were done in a speedy half hour, which Levi gave himself a pat on the back for. He spent the remainder of the afternoon trimming the large trees in their yard (to this day, he still had no idea what type of trees they were, just that they would get fucking huge if they weren’t decimated once a year), and then he set up the timer for the water sprinkler they used on their grass.
By four, he was back inside, ditching his damp t-shirt and sweatpants in the laundry hamper for a fresh set of lazy home clothes. He scoured through their fridge for stuff he could use for dinner.
Levi was a pretty good cook, if he did say so himself. It wasn’t just that he’d been learning since he was young; he was good at multitasking, had a precise sense of timing, and his taste buds were sharp. And he enjoyed it too, because there were so many things he had to think about at once that whatever shitty mood he was in was usually dispelled by the time he’d finished arranging a tableful of masterpiece dishes.
That said, he might've gone a little...overboard today.
When Kenny caught sight of the literal tableful of food, his eyes popped.
“Holy fuck. Is there some kinda special occasion today?” he said, falling into a chair. “We’re gonna be eating leftovers for days, kiddo.”
“I’ll take some over to Petra and Hange later.”
“Oh, good idea.” Kenny picked up his fork, stabbing a piece of pasta. “And maybe Erwin, too.”
Levi froze. All the work he’d done outside, the hours he’d slaved away in the kitchen, suddenly didn’t matter anymore. His hands were cold again.
“We'll see,” he muttered.
Armed with bags filled to the brim with tupperwares, Levi walked all the way to Petra’s dorm, where he knew Hange was probably still camping out. His fingers were hurting by the time he got there, but getting warmly glomped by his friends the second they saw him made it worthwhile.
They didn’t ask anything. It was probably obvious by the look on his face and the amount of food he’d randomly cooked. He was grateful for their astuteness.
They watched Netflix until the sky was pitch black outside—by then, they were halfway through Season 3 of How I Met Your Mother, of which Petra and Hange were both outrageously proud—before Levi decided that it was time to go home. Petra offered to let him stay the night, but he hadn’t showered yet, and he didn’t want to sleep in clothes he’d worn while cooking. Or borrow Petra’s tiny ones, for that matter.
He said his goodbyes, touched by the concern and love gleaming on their faces, and took the bus home.
It was two am and Levi couldn’t sleep again. He groaned into his pillow and tried counting sheep.
...88 over the fence...89 over the fence...90 over the—
Okay, who the fuck even came up with this counting sheep shit? Did it work on anyone? Ever?
Exhausted and pissed off, Levi picked up his phone and had unthinkingly tapped on the text messaging icon when he stopped and asked himself what he was doing.
He couldn’t do that anymore. He could no longer text Erwin whenever he was bored, tired, having a good day, having a bad day, or simply craving the moron’s affection. He couldn’t call him in the middle of the night, sorry for waking him but overjoyed anyway when he picked up.
Most importantly, he shouldn’t want to do those things. But it was two am, that quiet point of night universally accepted as the time to admit to one's vulnerabilities and imperfections.
Levi pressed on his message history with ‘The BF’. Starting from the bottom, he scrolled up, reading through all their months’ worth of conversations.
The BF: Levi, the trial is over and I still don’t see you anywhere. Did I maybe miss you?
The BF: How was work today, darling? ;)
The BF: Say, if you can’t sleep, can I call yuo?
The BF: Oh, Levi! Congratulations! I’m so happy for you. :D xoxo
The BF: I find that massages help with cramps. ;)
The BF: By the way, I thought you might appreciate some proof that I can indeed make grilled salmon.
The BF: Were you not referring to literal milkshakes? :O
The BF: But you’d be bored without me, right? :(
The BF: <3
The BF: I’m a commander?
The BF: A sweater that my grandmother knit for me and those sweatpants that you hate, the ones with the hole in the right knee.
The BF: Thanks, but I think you’re even more handsome.
The BF: WOW, that was so close! Actually, it’s “Levi BB <3”
The BF: I need to ask you something very important tomorrow afternoon, if you’re free.
The BF: Levi, are you seeing anyone?
The BF: Emoticons? No, I’ve never heard of them.
The BF: Yes, I’d love to study with you another time!
The BF: I’m glad I met you again.
The BF: Hello! This is Erwin Smith, from the grocery store!
His thumb continued its scrolling motion even though he knew he’d hit the beginning already. The end. There was no more.
His nose was stinging, and he could barely make out the shape of the letters anymore, but he read it all one more time, this time from the top. In chronological order, the conversations came together. He saw himself grinning as he replied to the messages: on the bus, on his bed, at his desk, at random spots all over the city. He remembered the places they went together, the things they did between each gap in conversation, his mind filling in the spaces.
Hey, Erwin.
Do you remember what you were wearing when we met again, what seems like years ago now? Do you remember the way you smiled when I found you at the law building with Hange and Petra, day one after we began dating? Do you remember my warmth on you as you piggybacked me around the supermarket? Do you remember Chinese take-out, mesh shirts, green tea, “Stay with me”, candlelit stories of bloody clowns and unzipped flies and talking teddy bears? Do you remember our kisses, and everything beyond them?
Do you remember?
Were you happy? As happy with me as I was with you?
The BF: Good morning, Levi. Sad that you’re not the first thing I see this morning. :( Missing your bathroom jokes already. xoxoxo
Levi brushed his fingertips over the words, reading them over and over again until he could no longer see through his blurred vision. His phone dropped to the bed as he curled on his side, the comforter slipping over his head. He covered his face and let himself cry.
Levi went into work the next day after a sleepless night. Thankfully, his eyes were only slightly red-rimmed; he’d had the insight to ice his stupid swollen eyelids when he’d woken up. Dr. Jaeger and a few co-workers asked him if he was all right, but they were easily placated when he told them he’d just been too busy to sleep. Work was hectic, as usual, lots of running around and indirect exercising, so no one pried, and he didn’t get a chance to drown in his thoughts.
He didn’t cry that night, or the night after. He worked himself so hard during the day that he’d pass out on his bed as soon as he showered. But even without working himself to the bone, Levi wouldn't have cried anyway. He was strong. He wouldn’t let something like this get him down. How long had he and Erwin been going out for, anyway? A month? Somewhere around there. Of course, there was that odd sense of déjà vu he got sometimes, as if he’d known Erwin for much longer than that, as if he knew him on a deeper level. But what did it matter now, really? A month-old relationship was nothing. Levi was picking himself up already.
First loves never worked out, anyway.
Friday came before Levi realized. It was an odd thing to feel, but he could sense his facial muscles returning to his control. Maybe he’d be able to genuinely smile within another couple days or so.
He picked up some sushi on the way home, opting for take-out rather than home-cooking for the first time that week. And then he decided to call Hange, because the weather was nice and he was in a relatively chatty mood. He was also long overdue for some Mr. Splat gossip.
“Hello?”
“Yo, shitter.”
“Levi!” Hange yelled. He flinched, jerking his phone away from his ear.
“What the fuck, you’re so fucking loud all the time.”
“Oh, sorry, sorry! I was just excited to hear from you. How ya doin’, huh?”
“Eh, decent, I guess.”
“Yeah, well, you better be, seeing how you’ve been ignoring us on Facebook. Asshole,” Hange griped.
He snorted. “Sorry about that, work’s been busy. I fall asleep right after dinner.”
“Wow, getting old, aren’t you?”
“Shut the fuck up. You’re the same age.”
“Yeah, but I’m still spry as fuck!” Hange hooted.
“Oh my God, shut up. So how’s Petra? I would’ve called her too but I never know when her interviews are.”
“Oh, she’s as chipper as you’d expect. Wait. Did you know that Oluo finally kissed her?”
Levi gawked. A girl he passed on the sidewalk gave him a weird look. “You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not! She was totally squealing about it. It was hilarious. Hold on, where are you right now?”
“I’m walking home. Just got off from work.”
“Oh, okay. Well, check Facebook when you get Wi-Fi. The way she freaks out is totally amazing.”
Levi smirked. “I can kind of imagine.”
Caught up in Hange’s antics, Levi was too preoccupied to see the figure on his porch.
He almost dropped his bags when he looked up the stairs to his front door. For one brief second, he considered turning around and running.
“Hange,” he said hoarsely, interrupting them mid-sentence. “I’ll call you back.” He tucked his phone back into his pocket, and took a few steps closer. He cleared his throat.
Erwin turned, eyes widening when he saw Levi. “Levi! I...I was just about to ring your doorbell. I. Um. I thought you were usually home by now.”
Levi stared at him. As the shock wore off, irritation began simmering in his veins. Erwin looked good. The circles under his eyes were a smudge darker than they usually were, and his eyes were kind of bloodshot, but otherwise, his hair was neat and he was clean-shaven. He was wearing actual outside clothes for once.
Well, didn’t he look just fucking fine and dandy.
“What the fuck do you want,” Levi muttered. He told his chest to go fuck itself when it tightened at the way Erwin’s face crumbled.
“I just—”
“Get down from there first. Kenny’s gonna hear you.” Erwin bit his lips and obeyed, climbing down the stairs. Levi backed away a couple steps and crossed his arms.
Erwin gestured at his bags. “Um...do you need help with tho—”
“No. Get to the point. I ain’t got all fucking day here.”
Erwin winced. He stared at a spot on Levi’s shirt, not meeting the smaller man’s eyes. “I—I just wanted to apologize again. Um. I know it must have been quite a shock.”
Pain lanced through his heart at the reminder, but Levi just raised an eyebrow, tapping his foot. “Is that all? Because you’ve said that already and I’m over it.”
Erwin’s lips pressed into a tight line and he fidgeted.
Levi sighed, rubbing his eyelids. “What do you want from me, Erwin?”
“I.” Erwin swallowed. “I was hoping you’d...reconsider.”
“What?” Levi said flatly. “What is there to reconsider?”
The blond took a deep breath and straightened, staring into Levi’s eyes. “Remember how I said I had to tell you something that day?” Levi nodded reluctantly. “I was going to come clean and tell you about Marie. And if you were okay with it, I wanted to continue with our relationship. I really like you, Levi. I don’t want to give you up so easily.”
“If...I was okay with it?” Levi echoed. “As in, if I was okay with you kissing her?”
Erwin nodded.
“So you...” Levi’s brow scrunched up. “You want me to...accept that you do things with other people? Go to your place, watch a movie, do fucking nasty things with you while knowing that you kiss other people?”
Erwin seemed to lose his composure at that. “I—I—um—”
But Levi could see the affirmation on his face. His eyes widened. He unintentionally took a step back.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, horrified. “You’re a fucking asshole. I can’t believe—I thought you were such a saint. But you’re a complete asshole.”
Erwin stood there in shock.
He had to ask one more time. "You want me to go along with your cheating?"
Erwin's shoulders dropped. "Levi..."
“I’m done here.” Levi shook his head. “You need to go home.” He made to brush past Erwin, but the blond grabbed him around the arm.
“Wait!”
“What the fuck,” he hissed, throwing Erwin's hand off. “Don’t touch me.”
Erwin looked so stricken that Levi almost regretted it.
“I—please, just—a few minutes of your time,” Erwin stammered. “Please, Levi.”
“What the fuck more do you want from me?” Levi’s voice was rising, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. “I should’ve—I should’ve listened to Hange. The rumours were right. How could I have been so blind? You’re fucking insane.”
“Levi,” Erwin begged. “Please. Please don’t walk out. I—I didn’t mean to do it—”
Levi threw his head back and laughed. He laughed so hard he was wiping tears out of his eyes when he sneered, “Didn’t mean to do it. Ah, now that’s a classic. What, didn’t mean to cheat? Didn’t mean to want two people at the same time? You just can't help it? What else have you done behind my back, huh?” Levi leaned close to Erwin’s face, and he knew his expression was probably dark and ugly right now, but he didn’t give a fuck. “Have you slept with her in the same bed that you did with me? Hm? Made her squirm on your dick? Or did you have to spend a couple days stretching her first, too?”
Erwin’s face was so white he could have been a corpse. “L-Levi—”
“You know what?” Levi smiled, all sharp teeth. He straightened and rearranged the bags on his arms, making sure the styrofoam cartons were lying flat. “It doesn’t matter to me anymore, even if you did do those things. I’m over you now.”
Erwin stared at him. Levi met his eyes evenly. Erwin’s gaze fell from his face, dropping to his feet. His bottom lip trembled. Levi hated himself for how it made the lump solidify in his throat.
“Bye, Erwin. For real, this time. I hope I never have to see your face again.”
And he walked past him, climbing up the steps to the front door. He dug his keys out of his pocket, sliding them into the lock and pulling the door open. When it was safely shut behind him, he fell against it, his breaths coming in quickly.
He swallowed past the stubborn thing in his throat, and peered out of the peek hole. But Erwin was no longer there.
Levi dropped the sushi on the dining room table, ignoring Kenny’s greeting, and headed straight for his room. He held it together until the door was closed, and then he slowly collapsed to the floor, silent sobs wracking his body. He sank his teeth into his fist to muffle his gasps, but they came anyway. “Erwin,” he whimpered, tears streaming down his cheeks.
His Erwin had been imaginary. He didn’t even exist.
Saturday morning, Levi slowly opened his eyes to the white ceiling. He was on his bed for some reason. Oh, right, he'd crawled up after his pathetic little crying session last night. Fuck, he felt like his eyeballs had gotten rolled over by a truck, they were so swollen. He groaned and rolled over, burying himself under his pillow. It was too fucking bright.
Shit. No. It was time to get his act together. How long did he plan on acting like a depressed little fuckhead for? He was twenty-three years old, for Christ’s sake, and not fit for behaving like a stupid, snot-nosed pre-teen.
With great effort, he found his phone.
Conversation: Hange Zoe, Petra Ral, Levi Ackerman
Levi Ackerman: yo
Hange Zoe: sup
Petra Ral: morning! :D
Levi Ackerman: we need to do something fun
Hange Zoe: HEEYY THATS THE SPIRIT im down for anything in fact im free today. btw u never called me back bitch
Levi Ackerman: oh shit sorry i completely forgot
Hange Zoe: watever just make it up to me by being extra cheerful today ha
Levi Ackerman: ugh
Petra Ral: YAAAAY so what should we do??
Levi Ackerman: wait petra, u dont have a date with mr splat?
Petra Ral: well, we were going to hang out for a bit this afternoon, but he’ll understand if i tell him i want a friends day. don’t worry about it, levi! i see him almost every day, so it’s no big deal! :DD
Levi Ackerman: uuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh
Hange Zoe: ya dont sweat the details if ho says its ok then its ok
Petra Ral: WOW, RUDE
Levi Ackerman: ok if ur sure
Petra Ral: i am!! :D so what did u have in mind?
Levi Ackerman: i dunno wats fun
Hange Zoe: lol
Petra Ral: how about we go out somewhere for once? since we always just stay at home on netflix haha
Levi Ackerman: sure
Hange Zoe: sounds like a good change of pace
Petra Ral: hmmmmmmmmm but where to
Hange Zoe: k off the top of my head some fun things to do: indoor rock climbing paintballing karaoke petting zoo
Levi Ackerman: petting zoo wtf
Hange Zoe: yo dont underestimate the funness of petting zoos. i was there for like a whole day once just cuddling the goats
Levi Ackerman: ew goats r gross
Hange Zoe: theyre cute trust me
Petra Ral: HOW ABOUT WE DO ALL OF THOSE? :DDD
Levi Ackerman: r u srs lol
Hange Zoe: hey im down
Petra Ral: YEAHHHH
Levi Ackerman: sounds like an expensive day
Hange Zoe: who cares splurging once in a while is fine. we didnt even go on a grad trip or anything
Petra Ral: hange’s right! we should celebrate a little. after all, u’ve got a steady job and hange’s already confirmed their prof for their masters~
Hange Zoe: right and uve got a nice rich bf
Petra Ral: he’s rich??? really??? y would u think that?? :O
Hange Zoe: ...omfg i am surrounded by idiots
Levi Ackerman: fine. lets do it all. wat time we meeting
Hange Zoe: will u suckers be ready to meet at levis bus stop in an hr
Petra Ral: yes! :)
Levi Ackerman: sure
Hange Zoe: good. autobots roll out
Petra had very helpfully mapped out the shortest route to take if they wanted to do everything on their list. Hange and Levi followed it without question, determined to go all out.
And they really did get through everything before nightfall.
“How the hell are you so fast?” Hange screeched from the ground, shielding their eyes to glare up at Levi who was already almost at the top of the climbing wall.
He scoffed and yelled over his shoulder, “Don’t underestimate a kinesiology graduate with a physical education minor, you shitter!” Petra laughed from somewhere below Levi.
“Come on, Hange,” she sang. “You’re going to be left behind!”
“Shut up! This is the hardest difficulty, you know! Look at Levi, he’s practically parallel to the ground and his arms are almost too short to reach the next handhold, what the frick!”
“Shut the fuck up! I can reach just fine!” Levi thrust out his hand, fingertips barely grazing the small protrusion from the wall. He grunted and stretched, gritting his teeth, and caught a hold. “Ha, see, I told you!” He yelled triumphantly.
“Whatever!” Hange shouted. “The only reason I ain’t beating your ass right now is ‘cause my gear malfunctioned and I had to get down to fix it!”
“Yeah, yeah, shitters gonna talk shit!”
Petra laughed so hard Levi was afraid she’d fall.
“Are you making fun of me, ho?! Get down here, you bitch!”
“Ho! Bitch!” A voice yelped.
“What the fuck?” Levi looked down. It was a bright-eyed kid, probably having wandered over from the children’s walls, staring reverently up at Hange.
“Fuck!” the kid shouted.
“Oh my gosh!” Petra cried. “He’s learning bad words from you guys!”
The kid glared and stabbed a finger at her. “Shitter!” Petra gasped.
Hange howled in laughter. “Hey, kid.” They slung an arm around the little boy. “I’ll teach you a thing or two. Come with me.” As they led the child back to where he’d probably come from, Petra huffed.
“My word! The mouth on that boy!”
Levi rolled his eyes and kept climbing.
“On my signal,” Hange whispered. “You two hide over there. They should be here any second now.” Levi and Petra nodded. They slunk over to their cover.
Hearts pounding, they waited for the slightest squeak of sound. Nothing came. Minutes later, when they still didn’t hear anything, Petra murmured, “Captain? Your orders?”
“Make your choice, Petra,” Levi said under his breath. “I don’t know if standing down is the correct decision, but no one knows what will happen in the future. Only make sure that it’s a choice you won’t regret.”
Petra nodded. “Roger that, Captain.”
They waited.
Suddenly, a shrill whistle pierced through the air. Levi and Petra jumped into action, bursting out from behind the wall. Aim, fire.
The first one went down. Then the second, and third. But there were five more approaching from all sides. Levi and Petra crouched back to back, slowly circling, their weapons at the ready. They could not afford to fall here.
A loud crash distracted their opponents enough that they took down four more in the blink of an eye. The fifth fell from a shot to the back of the neck. Hange landed beside them, breathing hard. “There are two more hiding somewhere,” they muttered. Levi nodded.
“Split up.”
The trio disappeared into the shadows. Levi found the last two hiding behind a corner, and took them down before they could react.
The lights flashed on and deafening music filled the room. Our three heroes shielded their eyes.
“Congratulations to the Survey Corps!” the announcer blared through the speakers. “You’ll be taking home the trophy for Paintball Death Match today!”
“Yes!” Hange pumped their fist. Levi nodded sagely.
“All in a day’s good work!” Petra happily declared, wiping off her sweaty brow.
“What the hell!” Ten twelve-year-olds swarmed around them, stamping their feet and shrieking with their pitchy, unchanged voices, their clothes smeared with paint. “That wasn’t fair!”
“Why do we have to fight against adults!”
“Yeah, they’re like twice our height!”
“Well, maybe not these two—”
“You’re right—”
“But it’s still not fair!”
“Shut the fuck up!” Levi barked. They all froze. “You call yourselves soldiers, huh?”
“But we’re not—”
“Silence!” he bellowed. The kids shut up. “Stop all your shitty whining, brats. Is whining going to save your comrades? There were ten of you and three of us. You should be ashamed of yourselves, shitheads."
They looked down in humiliation, kicking their feet. Levi sighed and crossed his arms. "But you're not beyond hope yet. You all need to start from the basics. I will personally train you. Come!”
The kids stared up at him, their eyes glimmering in awe. They scrambled to line up behind Levi, who had begun marching away. Hange and Petra giggled, and brought up the back of the line.
“M-Mister, what’s your name?”
“Call me Captain!”
“Yessir, Captain!”
“AND IIIIIIIIIIII-EE-IIIIIIIIII WILL ALWAYS LOOOOVE YOUUUU-HOO-HOO AND-IIIIII WILL ALways. LOVE. YooOOUUU!”
Hange’s voice cracked as they hit the last high note. Petra braved on with her naturally higher voice, undaunted. Falsetto was for weaklings. Levi slurped at his bubble tea serenely as chaos erupted around him.
“—YOOUU-HOO-HOO I WILL ALways...loOOoOOoOOoove...you-ooo-ooo...” and Hange drifted off, coughing out the last couple of notes.
Ah, it was over. See? Tranquility radiates from the mind.
“Holy shiiit!” Hange wheezed as they flopped on to their seat. “My throat kinda hurts! I’m getting too old for this.”
“Ha!” Petra cried. “I’m totally fine. One more round! And Levi, c’mon, you totally have to join us. This is so cathartic.”
“Eh...I’ll just wait for my songs.” Levi chewed on his bubbles.
“What did you choose?” Hange skimmed the song list. “Oh my God, you always sing the same stuff!”
“Shut up. You got your jam, I got mine.”
“Oh, guys! Next song is Poker Face!” A trance beat began throbbing through the speakers, and Lady Gaga’s dripping wetsuit flashed on the screen.
“That’s my shit!” Levi shouted, hopping to his feet. Hange and Petra shoved the mics in his face. He took both, and strutted to the front of the room.
“Mum mum mum mah,” the two chanted supportively, bobbing their heads. Petra did the snorkel while Hange hip-thrusted. Levi leered, completely in his element, before he purred the first line of the lyrics he could sing in his sleep: “I wanna hold ‘em like they do in Texas, please.”
“These goats...are...actually surprisingly cute,” Levi said in wonder. He patted the fuzzy head of one of the babies, which bleated and nuzzled his hand. His heart melted. “Oh my fucking God.”
“Aren’t they! I told you they were adorable,” Hange gloated. They were surrounded by a crowd of goats, all of which were licking them or biting their hair. Animals adored them, for some reason.
“I love this girl so much,” Petra blubbered, her arms wrapped around the neck of a spotted fluffy cow. It didn’t pause in its grass-chewing, utterly blasé. But, like, in a cute way. “She’s so soft, gosh. I want to take her home.”
“No, Petra,” Levi and Hange both said dryly.
“Remember that time you brought home a wild bunny?” Hange reminded her.
Petra gasped. “We do not speak of Mr. Cottontail.”
“It was your fault for not neutering it.” Levi rolled his eyes.
“How was I supposed to know!” Petra cried. "I couldn't even tell if he was a guy or a girl!" She buried her face in the fluffy cow’s neck. Levi cringed. This was supposedly a petting zoo safe even for small children, but animals were animals, and there were probably ticks in that thing.
“You’re gonna catch some weird disease from putting your face so close to a cow,” he commented.
“I don’t care! Buttermilk’s too cute to be carrying gross bugs.”
“Who the fuck is Buttermilk.”
“The cow, Levi. The cow.”
“What the fuck.”
“Stop cussing in front of Buttermilk!” Petra wailed.
Hange shot Levi The Look. “Do you think she’s on her period?” they whispered.
“I heard that!” Petra screeched.
By the end of the day, Petra and Hange looked ready to pass out, their eyelids fluttering as they slumped in their seats.
“Okay, I’m gonna ditch now. Gotta go home and clean my fucking disgusting room.” Levi stood, putting money on the table for his portion of the food.
“You still have energy to clean after today?” Hange said incredulously.
“It’s only my room. I haven’t cleaned it for a couple weeks, so it’s filthy.”
“Uh huh, very filthy,” Petra joked, tiredly curling her fingers in quotation marks.
“I'm just cleaner than you dirty pigs. Anyway, peace.”
“Bye.”
“See you soon!”
Since the restaurant was only a ten minute walk away from his house, Levi went home by foot. He kind of wished he hadn't, because with it being light out, he could see every detail in his surroundings.
He tried. He really tried, but despite his valiant efforts, he still saw Erwin everywhere. Maybe it would take a long time to mend this broken heart, after all.
He sighed, slowly climbing the steps to his house and walking in. He dropped the leftovers on the dining table. “Kenny, I brought you dinner. Tacos.”
“Oh, thanks, kiddo.”
He slunk up to his room, rolling up his sleeves. Flinging open his window, he took a deep breath of fresh air, and got to work.
Halfway through vacuuming the carpeted floor, something sticking out from the bottom of his bed caught his eye. Frowning, he turned off the vacuum cleaner and bent to pull it out. He inhaled sharply.
Erwin’s shirt. The white, long-sleeved one Levi had worn home after that night at Erwin’s, and the one he’d tried to masturbate to before he’d caved and called the blond. He rubbed it between his fingers. It was thin, and very soft. Kind of worn out. A short row of buttons opened from the collar, and thin, barely-visible gray stripes lined the front in diagonals. Levi hesitated before he slowly brought the collar up to his nose. He closed his eyes and breathed in.
His nose immediately began stinging. He laughed, even as his eyes watered. Who knew he could be such a crybaby?
He sat there on the floor and hugged the shirt, cradling it to his chest. When his eyes dried out, he sighed, pulled it away, and folded it. He’d return it to Erwin tomorrow. And that would be the end.
|
There are two people in his life that Tony holds close to his heart.
One is the man who can relentlessly fuck him senseless and ruin him with a fervent sense of depravity.
The other is his husband.
Flat-out and bare, there is nothing wrong with Tony’s relationship with his husband. He loves Steve very much, and he knows the feeling is healthily mutual between them. It’s why he’s spending his morning with Steve in their bedroom—like any normal couple would—getting driven into their mattress like a wanton whore.
The only slight abnormality might possibly be that Tony is three meters away from Steve, who has been sitting across the room, stroking his cock since he got up half an hour prior to Tony’s own bleary-eyed rise from bed.
It had been too early for Bucky to show up on his own, so Steve had evidently been thinking with his dick and told Bucky to swing by, if the home video they’d made last week playing on the television was anymore of an indication.
Tony remembers that night perfectly. He’d been sleeping when Steve had invited Bucky over in a similar fashion to now—with one hand on his dick and his phone in the other—following the invite had been an abrupt awakening and a recorded session of him being thoroughly plowed against the headboard.
So that’s how he wakes up, with porn of himself blaring from the television and one nude James Barnes seated on the edge of his bed.
“I’m gonna take you apart, darling.” Bucky is crawling towards him as soon as he sits up straight.
“I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet, but this—this is okay too.” Tony eyes the television from around Bucky’s looming figure, and he doesn’t get any other words out before he’s being lifted and groped.
“Make him look at it.” Steve grunts from across the room, and within seconds Tony’s jaw is being squeezed, his head jutted out uncomfortably towards the screen.
Tony blinks a few times slowly, and his cock begins to harden simultaneously alongside his processing of the situation.
He’s suddenly very awake when he feels Bucky’s teeth grinding around his earlobe.
“Look at that,” Bucky whispers into his ear, “you see how much of fucking slut you are? You look like a rentboy. An amateur pornstar.”
Staring at the screen, Tony lets his eyes glaze over until only moving blurry silhouettes are visible. He knows Steve’s eyes are on him, but with the way Bucky is squeezing his jaw, he can’t stop an embarrassing string of drool from sliding down his chin. The spit hits Bucky’s arm and Tony flinches slightly before the slap comes—a quick one to his cheek that spreads his saliva across his chin.
Tony whines at the wet, sticky, stinging feeling as he reaches for his cock, and he knows how this goes, how Bucky gets when his thoughts are nothing but lewd and demanding, so it’s no surprise to him that he doesn’t get much stroking in before his arms are pulled above his head and Bucky is gesturing for him to lay back.
“Open.”
That’s all Tony needs before he’s got two fingers pinching his nostrils shut. Bucky uses one hand to hold his body up as he moves upward to push his cock into Tony’s now open mouth. It’s a familiar taste, and this is a familiar event.
Tony still knows he’ll have a sore throat for the rest of the day.
Bucky wastes no time with shoving himself down Tony’s throat, and Tony immediately gags and moves his hands to hold onto Bucky’s waist. Having something to hold makes it easier when Bucky begins his relentless pounding.
Tony loves choking on it. He loves the sensual feeling of his own sticky saliva sliding out of his mouth around Bucky’s cock and down his face, of his throat being violated, the feeling of Bucky’s wet cock depriving him of air and the discomfort of not being able to control the situation keeps his body lax and his dick stiff.
Tony gags and chokes as Bucky pushes in with a twitch and holds himself there, Tony’s nose against his navel, for a few moments before pulling out completely. He wipes his wet cock across Tony’s face with a groan before lifting himself up.
Tony’s coughs are slightly louder than the underlying noise of the porn on the television and the steady slapping sound of Steve masturbating from the other side of the room.
As soon as Bucky’s fingers are off of his nose, Tony takes a deep breath, his eyes rolling back as he slides his hands up his body to rest on his chest. He knows he looks like a mess by now, with his unruly combination of bedhead, a freshly fucked throat, and his reddened, spit covered face.
Bucky only allows him a brief moment of serenity, not long enough to stop breathing heavily, before his arms are yanked away from his chest and used to pull him up and then turn him around. He has even less time to gather coherent thoughts before his face is shoved into Steve’s pillow and Bucky is on his knees between Tony’s legs, spreading them apart until Tony feels an ache from the sudden stretch.
He hears Bucky spit on his cock, and shivers as he slides his hands under Steve’s pillow and breathes in the scent of his husband--his husband who will never be able to slap him in the face without a subsequent chuckle, his husband who will never be able to push him down and make him choke on cock, his husband who will never be able to fuck him like a real man.
Tony turns his head to the side to get a glimpse of Steve, who is unsurprisingly staring right back at him. His spouse’s face is red, and his lithe, pale body looks impossibly smaller in the cushioned chair he’s sitting in. Tony momentarily lets his eyes drop from Steve’s eyes to his slow moving hand, but he doesn’t get much staring in before he can feel the pressure of Bucky’s cock slowly sliding into his ass, and Bucky is suddenly yanking his head back by tugging on his hair, which breaks his eye contact with Steve.
“How ‘bout you make some noise for me.” Bucky tugs a bit harder at his hair, and Tony obliges, his breathy panting turning into whorish whines and wet moans in turn as Bucky lets go of his hair to instead swipe a hand down on his ass, harsh and fast. A stinging handprint leaves its mark and sets a plump red spot for each slap that follows.
Bucky brings down his hand again and again. Tony curls his toes and cries out.
Steve’s pillow is stained with tears.
“Bucky!” Tony gasps, his voice muffled by the fabric of the pillow case.
He can’t see the grin on Bucky’s face, but he can hear Steve’s hitched breath and the sound of him sliding out of the chair and padding over to the two of them.
Seconds later, Steve is on his knees in front of Tony’s face.
And when Steve places a hand on his damp cheek, Tony looks at him again, teary eyes glazed over as he tries hard to focus on Steve’s irises--only it’s increasingly difficult to see straight when he’s got Bucky’s thick cock in his ass jerking him closer to the headboard with each thrust.
Steve holds his face there for a moment, as if he’s going to kiss him.
Instead he pushes his hips forward, presses his dick to Tony’s cheek bone, and cums on his face--small moans and a visible shudder leave Steve’s body.
Tony is too busy being thoroughly rawed to wipe it from his face. He stares at Steve’s thigh when his spouse sits down and begins to stroke his hair.
Steve is still watching, Tony knows, so he takes a moment to lick the salty substance that’s smeared nearest to his mouth. Like any good husband would, he knows Steve likes it when he swallows, and he’s a good husband.
And it’s mutual. Steve leans down to kiss him, and Tony, red faced and teary-eyed, finds no trouble in kissing right back. It’s an uncomfortable position for both of them, and Bucky must notice, because the speed of the thrusts increase. Tony is being driven down against the mattress now, his bare cock roughly, almost uncomfortably so, rubbing against the sheets.
With Steve beginning to tongue into his mouth, he can do no more but let himself fall apart.
Tony reaches his climax and pulls away from Steve to moan Bucky’s name into the sheets.
There is nothing wrong with Tony’s relationship with his husband.
|
Not for the first time in her life, Lorelai was grateful for the very presence of Rory.
Her father focused most of his attention on her during the drive, and it reminded Lorelai of how very little time Rory spent around either of her grandparents. For a very good reason, of course, but seeing the rapport between the two made little twinges of guilt shoot through her gut. It was either that or the really bad gas station coffee she was forced to resort to when stopping for gas.
As they reached the outskirts of Hartford, Richard motioned to an approaching exit, the looming hulk of a mall just off the highway. "Why don't I treat you to dinner? My treat for the ride back to Hartford."
"What about Grandma?" Rory asked.
"She already has plans for dinner with some friends of ours. My flight got in earlier than expected. Besides, I never see you two enough. I would love to take you out to dinner, Rory."
"And I'm just the chauffeur," Lorelai muttered.
"Sure!" Rory piped up, and Lorelai caught the light in her eyes through the rearview mirror. Suck it up, she ordered herself, because Rory was excited to see her grandfather.
The mall had an attached Cheesecake Factory, which even made Lorelai perk up just a bit. Cheesecake really did make everything better. And the meal she sat through to get it wasn't that insufferable. She tried to remember the last time she had spent this much time alone with her father, and she realized it had been a good 18 years earlier. Her 13th birthday. The circumstances made her frown into her coffee as they ate dessert. She dearly wished it was a martini.
Richard reached for his wallet and pulled out a $100 bill. He held it up to Rory. "I hear there's a Barnes and Noble at the other end of the mall. Consider this a congratulations gift for getting into Chilton." He handed it over as Rory's eyes went so wide that Lorelai wondered if they would pop out of her head. It was on the tip of her tongue to deny the gift, but Rory had already thrown her arms around Richard and thanked him profusely before running out to the bookstore, promising to meet them at the car.
"She'll be in there until it closes," Lorelai said casually, hating the awkwardness of everything. She found herself looking at her watch. It was a three and a half hour flight to Kansas City, which meant Luke had to be arriving by now. It was just early afternoon, but part of her itched to call his cell phone and make sure he landed safely — reduced calling rates be damned. Besides, she wasn't going to be that type of girlfriend. She was just thrown off because of the encounter with her father, that was all.
Richard watched as Rory strode out of the restaurant, her ponytail swishing as she walked. "Rory's quite tall. 5'7, it looks like?"
"Yeah, it's freakish. We're thinking of having her studied at M.I.T."
He left another wad of cash for the bill and got to his feet. "She doesn't look much like Christopher," he mused.
Lorelai felt her already stiff shoulders go so straight that she was sure she could balance a pen between the blades. "No," she said with a great deal of honesty, "she doesn't."
"Takes after my side of the family," Richard replied and beckoned to the door. "Come, walk with me, Lorelai."
Not that she had much of a choice without throwing Rory into an awkward situation. Lorelai followed her father out into the brightness of the mall. In his suit and tie, he looked out of place among the casual shoppers. He had back then as well, she remembered, when she had been 13 and he seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
"He called me yesterday," Richard told her as they meandered through the food court. "His Internet start-up goes public next month. This could mean big things for him."
His latest pipe dream, she was quite sure. "Is it really necessary to bring up Christopher?"
"He is Rory's father. I assume that you would like to be appraised of his current whereabouts and activities."
"And it just so happens you need to tell me about this less than two hours after you see me kissing someone who isn't him. Dad, the only reason I would want to be kept appraised of Christopher is if he was paying me child support. Which, surprise, he isn't. Nor do I think he's planning to after nearly 15 years." Lorelai folded her arms over her chest and eyed a Dunkin Donuts. It was decent enough coffee. She started toward it.
"Who you were kissing has nothing to do with me speaking to Christopher."
Lorelai got in line. "And that's another thing. You love golf. You're obsessed about it. How the hell do you know so much about baseball? Especially about Luke?"
"In my line of business, you need to be well-versed about all sports in order to have conversations with your clients. It just so happens that one of ours happens to be the Jean R. Yawkey Trust , which owns the Red Sox. Ergo, I keep up to date on these things."
Lorelai just stared at Richard as he motioned to the cashier and ordered two coffees. She accepted the cup and tried not to down it as if it was her longed-for martini.
"John Harrington is a longtime friend and associate," Richard continued. "I'm sure if you ask Luke, he would tell you quite a bit about him, as John was instrumental in bringing him onto the team as one of their his acquisitions after John rejoined the Sox in the '80s. As such, I'm quite familiar with his accomplishments."
"And the rumors?" Lorelai spoke more into the coffee cup than to him directly.
"And the rumors," Richard acknowledged, "which I know are not true."
Lorelai's head snapped up, her Oscar-winning fish impersonation deciding to make an encore.
"It's like when you see your 13-year-old daughter at the mall when she was supposed to be in school, wearing her grandmother's stolen top and crying like the end of the world was approaching. And you know that there is what appears to be the truth, and what the truth actually is. I know that Luke Danes does not have an illegitimate daughter by a Hollywood actress, no matter what people say. It's not because of the courts, but because I saw the man, saw the coverage, and knew the truth. Just as I knew there was a good reason you weren't in school that day. There are appearances, and then there's reality."
She wondered if her father had any inkling as to how close she was to dropping her coffee cup. Richard was focused on his own coffee, staring bemused into the nearby display at a Bath and Body Works. She looked down at the lid of her cup, at the small drops of coffee clinging to the opening. The words came tumbling out without permission.
"It was Royston Sinclair III. He called me loud and weird and said there was a rumor going around that I wasn't actually a Gilmore. That I was the gardener's daughter and you and Mom bought me because you couldn't have children of your own. It was my birthday, remember? I was so crushed. I ran out class, out of school. That's how you found me at the mall. And we went and saw Grease and An Unmarried Woman. A movie for me, and one for you." For the first time since her mouth decided to declare independence from her brain, Lorelai looked up at her father. "It was the best birthday I ever had."
"Thank you, Lorelai."
Lorelai felt her heart wobble, an unexpected surge of emotion making her want to try to forge a better path. "Dad…"
"I am aware of the confrontation between you and your mother. You've disappointed her."
And that desire died a quick, violent death. "Well, today's a day that ends with a y, so I'm not exactly surprised."
"She means well. Like you, she wants Rory to have a chance to succeed where you weren't able to."
Lorelai made an absent gesture, because it wasn't like the really weird toddler's outfit on display at the nearby Gymboree was going to illustrate her point. "But I have succeeded! I run one of the best-rated inns on the East Coast! Rory and I have a good home and a comfortable life. It's not the life you wanted for me, but I'm happy. We're happy. Rory is so bright, so smart. I don't want her thinking the only reason she got into Chilton is because of her name."
"Rory is a good girl," Richard agreed. "And part of that brightness and smartness is being able to capitalize upon the assets that you have. One of hers, as well as yours, is your name. Every action you do adds or takes away from the reputation that name has, whether it's getting pregnant at 16, running a 5-star rated inn, or dating a Cy Young Award winner."
Lorelai huffed. "You don't understand."
"There is a proper way to do things for a reason, Lorelai. It hasn't been easy for your mother these past 13 years, but it's time that you reconcile with her. With us. You have made it very clear through your actions that you can look after yourself and that you need nothing from anyone. However, you are going to need the strength of your family name more than ever."
They had reached the entrance to the Barnes & Noble, unwilling to cross the threshold. Once they did, they would need to keep the peace for Rory's sake, and besides, who better to witness the typical Gilmore family argument than dozens of strangers? At least this one wasn't the scene she'd had with Emily two days earlier. "What the hell does that even mean?"
Richard pinned her with one of those stares meant to intimidate his clients. "Lorelai. Do you understand what you're getting into?"
She lifted her chair and felt like she was 15 all over again. "With Chilton? Believe me, it's been haunting me from the day I mailed in the application."
"Not with Chilton." Richard threw away his empty coffee cup. "You will be under media scrutiny, Lorelai. You and Rory, because of who you are with. Because of who he used to be with. Don't think a relationship with Luke Danes will go unnoticed. Now, let's go see if Rory has bought out the bookstore."
The water rained down Luke's back, spraying the tile wall where Lorelai was bracing herself, helpless to do anything but hang on. His hips pistoned, a hand reaching around to fondle her clit with fingers slick from shower gel as he drove himself into her. When she came, when he followed right after her, she stumbled as she nearly fell to her knees. He managed to catch her in time, arms shaking slightly as the water turned cool.
"Hi," she managed after dragging in a few deep breaths, lifting her face to his so he could kiss her. "I missed you."
"I missed you, too." He twisted the taps off and reached outside the curtain for a towel. He handed it to her before fetching one for himself.
"I couldn't wait any longer."
"I could tell," he teased. "Especially when you sneaked into my house and into my shower."
"Hey, Liz let me in! Besides, someone had to make sure there weren't gremlins." Lorelai stumbled out of the shower and had to sit on the closed toilet seat. "Woo, wobbly legs."
"You drove all the way from Stars Hollow to prove there weren't gremlins?"
Lorelai fished through the discarded clothes on the floor before finding the dress shirt that Luke had been wearing on the flight home. She shrugged into it and did up the buttons. "I mean, you never know where you can find a Montgomery Ward store. I had to make sure you were in close proximity to one."
"Crazy lady." He walked naked into the bedroom, and she admired the view. All too soon, it was covered with clothes, but jeans did add a certain elegance to the ass beneath the denim. "Let me fix you dinner."
"I want dessert first." Deciding her legs were steady enough, and hello food, she scrambled off the toilet to follow him down the stairs.
"What do you think we were just doing?"
"Appetizers." She wrapped her arms around him from behind, nearly throwing him off balance. The resulting fall down the stairs wouldn't had been pretty, but he turned just in time to kiss her throughly.
Her hands were already plucking at the bothersome T-shirt when he brushed them away. "Refractory periods exist for a reason."
"Which means …?"
"We have about half an hour before dessert."
"Or sooner?" His teeth sank into the soft skin at the juncture between neck and shoulder. "Oooh, bitey!"
"C'mon, crazy lady. There might be a grilled cheese with your name on it."
"Yes!" She eagerly followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen. She smirked as he took the time to make sure the connecting door between his and Liz's half of the duplex was locked. "You're not going to make me eat vegetables with the grilled cheese are you?"
"Considering the last time you tried to eat celery resulted in you pitching it out the window?"
"It stinks!"
He tapped her nose. "Not vegetables."
Absurdly pleased with herself, Lorelai boosted herself onto the counter. "Thank you."
"Fruit on the other hand …"
"We'll negotiate."
She watched as he pulled out bread, cheese, and butter, absently swinging her legs as he went through the motions of making a light meal for them. She had driven from Stars Hollow after finishing work, the two days apart feeling like two years. The conversation with her father had run on a constant loop the entire time, mixing with the unfamiliar feeling of longing for a man. It felt like someone had severed a limb, or at least one of her toes. Not even when she and Chris had been deeply involved as teens had she felt this since of wanting just to simply be in the same physical proximity as another person. Not necessarily grabbing onto them, just breathing the same air.
She arrived in time to catch him in the shower, and her instincts had her shedding her clothes, whipping back the shower curtain and …
"Sookie's really OK keeping Rory overnight?" Luke's voice startled Lorelai from her daydream, and the smirk he shot in her direction told her he knew exactly what she had been thinking about. She gave an extra kick in response.
"Yeah, she's Rory's godmother. Not that we're into the whole church thing, but I wanted her to have a legal guardian in case something happened. She and Mia are her godmothers, respectively. If the Wienermobile takes me out at the ballpark on Saturday, I want her to be in good hands."
He flipped the sandwich in the skillet. "Not her grandparents?"
"You know what godparents are suppose to do? Beside the whole religious thing?"
"Yeah?"
"They have an interest in how the kid develops. My parents will be good to Rory, but I want her to have her own life, not what they wanted for her." She watched as he plated the two sandwiches, then reached for a bowl of apples. She very nearly spoke up about how she had craved apples during her pregnancy with Rory. "You've never met my father, have you? Richard Gilmore?"
"No. Why?" Luke handed her the plate as she slid off the counter.
"Just curious. He knows of you. A lot. Apparently his firm represents the trust that owns your team."
"Oh yeah?"
Lorelai dipped into the fridge for a beer and handed a second over to him before leading the way into the living room. "Says he's a personal friend of John Harrington."
"John's a good guy. He helped bring me up out of the minor leagues back in '87."
"That's what Dad said."
They settled on the couch, balancing their plates on their knees. "He kept me here too, when everything happened. A lot of guys get traded off. I've been lucky. I've been with one team my entire career, and I never wanted to go anywhere else. When the Sox could have traded me, John kept me on. I owe him a lot."
"Ah." Lorelai picked up her sandwich and frowned at it.
"What's wrong?"
"It's nothing." She picked at the toasted bread.
"Lorelai."
"My dad and I had a talk, that's all. It just made me a little nervous about Saturday." She covered up her anxiety by shoving part of the sandwich into her mouth.
Luke waited for her to swallow before responding. "No one's gonna bother you."
"I don't care about that. But what if they bother you? Hello, black sheep of Hartford society here." Lorelai waved at him. "Unwed mother at 16."
"Look, the craziness that happened six years ago is because Anna drove that machine. No one pays attention to people in my career unless we do something stupid. My stupid was getting involved with Anna Nardini. You are a beautiful, successful woman with an equally beautiful and successful daughter. I still don't know what the hell you're doing with me, but I grateful every goddamn day you've given me a chance." He set his plate on the coffee table. "I'm not an easy guy to live with, and I know that this can be hard on you. But we're going to make this work, Lorelai. I'm all in, you and me."
"All in," she repeated, winging an eyebrow when he took her plate and put it next to his. "What, no grilled cheese?"
"It's a miracle of science, but I'm ready for dessert now."
Lorelai and Rory met Liz and Jess at Fenway Park about two hours before the first pitch, enough time for them to get through the throng of people and cleared into the stadium using their passes. It never occurred to Lorelai to provide any sort of exposure to sports to Rory. The closest they had come was when 7-year-old Rory begged to try out for soccer and accidentally kicked the ball through the front window of Doose's. Taylor had been furious and Lorelai nearly had a heart attack from the cost before agreeing that if the store's insurance covered the replacement, she would never sign Rory up in another Stars Hollow sports league ever. It was a promise she had no issue keeping.
Liz took them through one of the souvenir shops, and Lorelai felt the burn in her credit card as she exclaimed over every kitschy item the store featured. A rack of jerseys caught her eye, and she all but dragged over to them as she started to rifle through them.
Liz watched them indulgently, turning to look over her shoulder as a familiar figure weaved his way through the crowds. Luke's progress was halting as he was hailed repeatedly, scribbling out autographs and speaking briefly to small children before extracting himself as politely as possible.
"Look at you, blowing off warm-ups," she teased as he finally reached her side.
Embarrassed, Luke shoved his hands in his pockets. "I've got time. I just figured I'd show you around a bit, then up to your seats."
"Uh huh." Liz elbowed him, her voice a teasing lilt. "Your crush is showing."
"Shut up."
Lorelai peered over the rack of clothes she was riffling through, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him. She was getting used to the strange flip-flop of her heart as he smiled back at her. "Look at all this stuff with your name on it!" She waved a jersey at them.
"You oughta see the underwear that was floating around there for a bit," Liz replied.
"Liz," Luke moaned as Lorelai gaped at them.
"Not sure how I feel about all those women wearing your name over their-" Lorelai gave an absent wave of the hand toward her crotch.
"The lawyers took care of it," he ground out.
Lorelai hummed and turned to the register. "Know where I can find some?" she murmured sotto voce to Liz as she handed over her credit card.
"I can still hear you."
Lorelai ignored Luke, popping the jersey on over the T-shirt she wore. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail and threaded it through the back of a Red Sox cap that she donned, bill facing outward. "How do I look?" The lack of response was immensely gratifying as his eyes simply glazed over. She immediately made a note to wear only the jersey to bed that night. Not that it would stay on very long.
"Want a bucket for all that drool?" Liz asked.
Luke sighed. "Can you take her home with you?"
They collected Rory and Jess, the teens having a hushed discussion over the books they had brought with them. Slightly sullen and very teenage boy, Jess barely spoke two words to Rory until she needled him into a heated discussion over literature. They continued it as Luke escorted them through the stadium, through the team-only areas and out onto the field near the dugout. He pointed out where the protectors were getting removed from the field and where the players were starting to warm up. A few of his teammates were signing autographs and taking photos with the fans, and he played the part as he showed them around, stopping every so often to do the same.
It reminded Lorelai of how Luke had behaved in Stars Hollow, his personality retreating to a far corner as he donned the role that was expected of him. She wondered how many years it took for him to perfect it, how fame and the whole mess with Anna had honed it. She thought of the man clad in a T-shirt and jeans as he made her grilled cheese and coaxed her into eating an apple, the one who had sought out a hardworking man in the wee hours of the morning to sign his father's store over to him, the one who had bought a duplex so his sister and nephew could have a home. He was definitely good at what he did, the shiny awards he kept almost tucked away at home boasting of it, but not that many people actually saw him.
"I never realized how much you did that," she mentioned as he strode back to her side after the latest round of autographs.
"What?"
"Pretended." Lorelai shrugged. "I recognize a kindred spirit."
He mirrored her shrug. "Comes with the job."
"But this isn't you."
Luke folded his arms over his chest, watching as the fans climbed into their seats. "I thought it was at one time. When my dad died, I just let it consume me. When everything happened with Anna, it just reminded me that it wasn't." He flicked a glance at her."You could see that. You saw it right away."
"The Mr. Verbose act at the town meeting gave you away. If you were that, you'd have shown it then."
He shook his head. "I have to go. Our turn to warm up."
She snagged his hand as he started for the locker room. "Kiss for good luck?"
Slowly, his gaze raked over her slim form, and there was no disguising the heat and desire. "You look good in that jersey," he murmured in a husky tone that had her fervently wishing they were alone.
"I'll wear nothing but it tonight," she whispered.
"That better be a promise." He leaned down to her as she looped her arms around his neck, kissing until it felt like stars were swimming in front of her eyes. Or maybe it was little hearts, like in the comics Kirk liked to read and sometimes showed her and Rory. His hands slid down to her waist, then ooh, her ass. He brought her flush against him, and before she could make a very illicit suggestion, he kissed her forehead and let her go.
Lorelai dragged in several deep breaths, then absently patted his arm. "Now, go break a leg."
Luke rolled his eyes. "That's not something you say to a ball player before he goes on the field."
Lorelai laughed and swatted his ass as he gave her another quick kiss before walking away. Satisfied, she leaned against a nearby post and admired his ass in the tight pants. It looked better in person than on TV. Who was she kidding, she was probably going to spend the entire game having fantasies about …
"Mom!"
Banishing the sexy thoughts to the back of her mind, Lorelai saw Rory's attention was focused on the Jumbotron that overlooked the ball field. So was Jess and Liz. So were a good many people.
And Lorelai lifted her own gaze to see footage of hers and Luke's heated kiss flash across the screen.
|
“It was not mine doing that brought you here, subway man.”
Arceus gazes cooly at him from across the fractal floor. Behind it, galaxies are born and galaxies die.
“But I am powerful. I can return thou to thine original timeline.”
The timeline he barely recalls.
“However, thou are meant to remain in Hisui.”
Arceus finally breaks eye contact, turning to stride to the left, where a glowing portal shudders open. He recognizes the cliffs and grasses of Coronet Highland. Arceus turns, looping around the portal, and as it strides right it’s eye follows him.
“I will giveth thou one week. To recall what is lost. Thine brothers name.”
A second portal, this one showing a populated city street.
“Should thou fail, thy shall return to Hisui, and never again visit mine reverie. This is mine challenge.”
He’s the main coordinator of battles for the training dojo. He’s a member of the Pearl Clan. He’s the warden of Lady Sneasler, and, more recently, her sneaslets. He is not home.
He selects the right portal.
Arceus folds it’s legs underneath itself, and both portals wink out like a lost tv connection. It closes its eyes, content to rest until it is called upon next.
“Good luck.”
The third person in a five minute span walks right through him, and Ingo shudders at the feeling.
Well, it doesn’t really feel like anything— nothing has felt like anything since he arrived in Nimbasa City— but it’s unpleasant all the same. A twist on social norms that he’s never quite expecting.
He adjusts the brim of his cap so to look up at the sky, frowning. It still appears to be morning, so he still has the majority of seven days to remember… remember the man in whites name.
It would help, he imagines, if he could find where he was. He remembers some sort of underground area, but where to find it? Well, there’s a reason he’s been wandering the streets ever since Arceus sent him here.
There’s the sound of excitement from further up the street, and he turns his attention that way. A crowd seems to be forming, and he makes his way over out of curiosity.
As he gets closer, individual words begin to be audible though the bedlam; “Elesa! Elesa!” and “Marry me!” and “What do you think of—“
Ah, he had known an Elesa, hadn’t he? He didn’t have a face for the name, nor did he really recall how long or well they had known each other, but he had known an Elesa. Perhaps this was the same one?
Neverminding the social norm of not walking through people now that it benefits him, Ingo moves through the crowd to the front, where a woman flanked by a couple people in fancy looking clothes stands waving. The fancy dressers seem to be keeping the crowd back, so he remains further back— no point in committing a safety violation when she cannot even see him.
She doesn’t look familiar. She’s also not saying anything, just smiling and waving, so he cannot judge based off of her voice.
Perhaps he recalls a different Elesa.
Then the man next to him, one trying very hard to juggle a camera and a small notepad shouts, “Is it true you’re still searching for Subway Boss Ingo? Even though it’s been—“
Her face shutters, and she calls out “Sorry, no more questions for today! See you all!” She blows a kiss, and with the assistance of the other two, strides down the street.
Well, it’s as good of a lead as any. If she’s still searching for him, then the odds that she speaks to the man-in-white eventually are fairly high.
She seems to have another destination in mind, as she strides through two brightly lit arches and into the brightest building he’s ever seen. It almost hurts to look at— he’s fairly certain that it had a specific name, but he cannot recall what it was.
He lingers outside for only a moment, and by the time he steps through the doors only Elesa and the elegantly dressed woman remain— Elesa is stretching her back and shoulders as the woman hovers, looking a bit awkward, before finally blurting out, “Ms. Elesa, about what they were asking—“
“Magnolia, we have a challenger coming. You should go back to your spot.”
“O-oh. Of course, Ms. Elesa.” The woman, looking rather chastised, scurries away, and Elesa sighs heavily before opening a door he had hardly noticed, and striding to the back of the building, where she waits.
He lingers nearby, observing the high-speed carts that whizz around on pre-determined tracks. Looking at them… faintly, he recalls riding them with someone… they had been rather ill afterwards— Elesa had laughed, and laughed…
“Alright— Emolga, use Aerial Ace!”
“Dodge it, Whirlipede! Iron Defence!”
He only realizes a battle is happening as a Whirlipede skids through his legs, hide hardening until the Aerial Ace barely scratches it.
“Now Screech!” Calls the challenger, in response to which the Whirlipede lets out an earsplitting screech. Emolga winces and recoils, dipping in the air, and the moment it’s within range the Whirlipede lunges forwards with a Poison Tail.
“Emolga! Volt Switch!”
Emolga crashes into the Whirlipede and returns, switching out for another Emolga.
The Whirlipede Screeches again, and the battle only picks up from there.
Elesa’s team— he recalls them now, formidable in battle. She had defeated both him and ——— after a handful of tries on the subway, far less than most.
The Whirlipede goes down to another Volt Switch, but the switched in Emolga has to face a Pignite that knows Rock Slide— that facet of the battle is over in seconds.
The second Emolga comes back out, and dispatches the Pignite with a swift Aerial Ace. The challenger grits their teeth, reaching for the last pokeball on their belt— Scrafty.
Ah! He knew that one without first being told it’s name, that does feel like progress. The Scrafty headbutts Elesa’s Emolga, tanks the returning Aerial Ace, and lashes out with a powerful Payback, leaving just Elesa’s ace.
Zebstrika takes a Sand Attack from the Scrafty with the grace of a saint, allowing the little guy to do his best before lunging into a Quick Attack, ending the battle.
“Agh, so close! Well done, Scrafty.”
“Bravo,” says Ingo, though no one can hear him, “Brilliantly fought.”
“Better luck next time— trying to use Sand Attack on my Zebstrika was smart, but your Scrafty was already pretty weakened from my Emolga. It might have been better to try and get Zebstrika to flinch with Headbutt.”
The challenger nods along as Elesa speaks, fishing a couple crumpled dollars out of their pocket.
Is paying the victor custom here? Rei would have run poor Jubilife dry if that had been the case in Hisui.
“Right, thank you, Ms. Elesa. I’ll challenge your gym again tomorrow!”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Elesa holds her smile until the challenger enters one of the carts, and then it drops. She turns and opens another fairly well hidden door, and Ingo sees enough of the interior as she goes to recognize her private dressing room.
He cannot recall enough of their relationship to know if she would have been alright with him following her in.
(And, if she stays in her gym all day, dealing with challengers— how is he supposed to find ———?)
All Aboard, then, and he walks out through a wall instead of bothering with finding the exit again.
Meaning he isn’t present when Elesa throws herself down at her desk, pressing palms of her hands into her eyes and smearing her makeup.
Like that, still, she breathes as quietly as she is able. Eventually, she lets her hands fall, and instead picks up a picture framed on her desk— a picture of two conductors, dressed in opposing colours.
“Where are you?”
.•.•.•.
By the time Ingo finds what he’s looking for, the sun has set. Likewise, he finds doesn’t grow hungry or thirsty, doesn’t need to sleep, and ghost type Pokémon cannot see him.
But more importantly; the subway.
It’s very close to Elesa’s gym— he could have gotten here much sooner if he had managed to recall anything about Nimbasa’s layout. It’s very quiet, too— he thinks it’s supposed to be much louder. Perhaps something to do with the hour.
Yes, that sounds right. He and ——— couldn’t run the subway all the time, could they? They had to eat, and sleep, and other such things. And the subway itself— he spent some time studying one of the many informational boards scattered about the walls, and remembered that yes, it was for battling, but more than that; it was for public transport as well. One of the boards was a map, which he could not make heads or tails of.
Likewise, the entrance to each trains dock was simply labelled with its battle function— excepting one, ‘To Anville Town’, though the lights were off in that one.
Which had ——— been responsible for? Perhaps finding his brothers train would help him recall further.
Recalling his time in Hisui, he chose the station labeled ‘Doubles Line’.
(After all, it had been a double battle— Him and Zisu facing Rei and Akari— that had finally restored enough of his memory for him to know his brother, the man in white, his rival and his friend. It had been the very night after that that Arceus had visited him.)
And even if he was incorrect; he had six more days to recall, and— well, to be quite frank, the idea of riding a train again excited him beyond measure.
He descended the stairs to the double battle station, passed by the security with a tip of his hat, and stepped through the doors and onto the train.
Seats lined either side of the aisle, and in one of them, a trainer sat sleeping, drool steadily carving a path down his cheek.
Hm. That didn’t seem correct, but he could not put his finger on why.
The next car.
Another sleepy trainer, though this one was awake and toying with one of their Pokémon.
Another car, again inhabited by a single trainer.
But that couldn’t be correct— he was certain that the battle subway did not run this late, and this was exactly why; being tired on the job led to degradation of safety, and a tired trainer would not be able to command their Pokémon as effectively as an awake one. So this could not be the battle subway, this had to be general public transport, but then why a single trainer in each car?
Deciding to resolve this conundrum, he hurried to the front, passing multiple tired trainers on the way. As he steps through the final door, though;
“—met. One more challenger? Verrry good. All aboard!”
A man dressed in white, though his back was to Ingo. He set the thing he had spoken into down, and began to turn as the train hummer to life under them.
Ingo saw maybe a corner of his smile before the train began to move— and Ingo did not move with it.
Well, he can walk through walls. It only makes sense that walls can walk through him, as it were.
Still, a thoroughly unpleasant experience— not only had he just lost sight of the man in white, but passing through the entirety of a moving train turned out to be horribly loud and bright— he had barely a second to see the challenger approaching the sleeping trainer before he toppled out the back, landing with a thud on the rails below.
It was horribly unsafe, being on the rails of a running train— even if the train was running away from you— and so after a moment to regain the wind that had been knocked out of him, he hoists himself up onto the station platform.
Hm. That movement felt entirely too familiar. Either a pay-off from his time with Lady Sneasler, or something he was used to doing.
This memory thing was proving to be very frustrating— it had been a problem in Hisui, but far less of one. In Hisui he could go for five minutes without running into the ghost of something he was certain he was supposed to know. Now he was constantly on the edge of realization, it felt, as if he had awoken in the middle of the night to drink, only to find his cup dry.
“Another late night, huh?” Says someone, from nearby. He turns, and watches as the security guard leaves his post to lean on the receptionists desk.
“Yeah…” one of them sighs, while the other rummages around under it to produce a cup, which she hands to him.
He takes a long drink from it, setting it back on the desk only when it’s empty. “You’re a lifesaver. This week’s probably gonna be pretty rough, huh?”
“Oh, probably.”
“Well, you know how it is— it is coming up on…”
“The anniversary, yeah. Still don’t get why he can’t just take the week off instead of working us half to death.”
“If your brother went missing, you’d hardly want to spend the week around the anniversary at home twiddling your thumbs, would you?”
“True, true.”
Ah.
He pulls the brim of his hat down, tuning out the further conversation as he processes that; a week from the day he went missing? Well, that did explain a fair bit.
Why people continued to pester Elesa with questions; why the subway was running so late. He really would have to speak with E—— about that. Hardly an appropriate way to deal with things, overworking their employees and their Pokémon.
Well. Not that he knew much about appropriate ways to deal with things.
For lack of anything else to do, he finds one of the benches dotting the subway and resolves to wait until the doubles line finishes running. If the clip of conversation he caught is any indication, then ——— should be ready to retire for the night as soon as this latest track is complete.
Speaking of that bit, though—
He had been saying something as Ingo stepped through, something ending in —met. It sounded rather like the latter half of a word, but try as he might he couldn’t figure out what it could be.
Also, as an aside; trying to figure out what might have been said made his head ache horribly, as though he had taken a physic type attack or the like.
Forced to stop for the good of his continued being, Ingo instead cast about the station, examining its walls. Were they any different than when he had left? He thought maybe; perhaps a few scratches he didn’t recall, a different shade of grey, but then— he couldn’t even recall his own brothers name. It would be a sorry thing if Ingo was more sure about the colouring of the stations walls than of that.
It occurs to him that time feels very stretched out when you are sitting around with not much to do.
Finally, he leans back and closes his eyes, reflecting on Lady Sneasler— for however long he had stayed with the Pearl Clan, there had always been the expectation that one day he would vanish as suddenly as he had appeared, and so she was likely well taken care of. Rei, Akari, and Zisu too— they would likely miss him. At the very least he could be assured that Zisu would take good care of his Pokémon, and of the other two— perhaps he would see one of them again someday.
Hm. Now, with his eyes closed, he could hear a low rumbling— not like a train over tracks, but rather reminiscent of a stampede of Ponyta he had witnessed once while assisting Lian in the Fieldlands— and over that, sound, faint, but as he listened it resolved into voices, and the light behind his eyelids slowly turned his vision red, and by the time he opened his eyes, Gear Station was swarming.
The early morning rush, he thought, a bit dazed, before standing up rather suddenly as someone saw fit to take his spot on the bench.
This did little to help, of course— the station was so packed, his vision was constantly obstructed by people passing clean through him— two thoughts; one, he was very glad he did not possess any kind of internal lighting or ability to see in the dark, or else he may learn much more about the interior of the skull than he wanted, and two; he would never find E—— in this.
Three; he did not know how much time had passed. He did not know how long he had left.
He steps forwards, then hesitates— it is impossible to keep track of where he is meant to be going, and even if he were to walk straight, the odds of him walking into a wall and not being able to find a way back out felt too high to play with.
And the people— it had been fine, at first, but as time mounted he found himself overwhelmed— he is certain that he had dealt with this many before, perhaps even daily, but the Pearl Clan’s population was sparse, and even as Jubilife grew in population people avoided the training grounds out of fear.
People or Pokémon; in clear memory, he can never recall being quite so surrounded.
He closes his eyes and covers his ears and waits for it to stop.
It doesn’t, of course— that isn’t how the subway works, but after an age it grows quieter, and an age after that he finally takes in his surroundings again.
It’s not as crowded as it had been, but not as empty as the night before. He finds the stairs and steps into sunlight, pausing just to breath once he’s outside.
Alright. Well.
It would likely take him being corporeal again for him to feel bold enough to brave the morning subway again— and even then, it felt as a lot. Perhaps— yes, he and ——— always made a point to arrive early, or— on time, arrive on time, which was early, before the rush.
And, he could wait just outside the entrance again, for ———, but he could not be sure that time wouldn’t escape him again— and he didn’t know how much time had passed, anyways, or if ——— even went in to work today, or…
It feels, suddenly, like a week will not be nearly long enough to even have a hope of recalling ———‘s name.
Well, no, let’s take a more rational approach to this. He has been regaining memories at a very steady pace, even with only a day under his belt. He’s even fairly certain that ———‘s name begins with a vowel, which is progress. He remembers what a train is, finally— he has stood in one, though he had not ridden it. He had met Elesa again, as one sided as that had been— and even just for a moment, he had stood in the same cab as his brother.
He would not allow himself to come uncoupled from hope. He would remember, and he would stay.
So, then; what to do now?
He knew the location of Gear Station, now— and Elesa’s gym was a rather hard building to miss, even if he were to become lost, so perhaps a walk around Nimbasa would help jog his memory.
.•.•.•.
“Tomorrow! I’ll get your badge tomorrow for sure this time!”
“… Actually…”
.•.•.•.
In the end, it doesn’t help overmuch. He recalled what a Pokémon Centre was, watched a production put on by Pokémon entitled ‘Exciting Nimbasa!’ and marvelled at the ferris-wheel next to Elesa’s gym that he had previously been too busy to take in, though he didn’t dare try and ride it.
Additionally, he had remembered a further number of Pokémon, recognized a cafe he was certain Elesa would take them to after some of her more successful photo shoots, or their busier days, and discovered that only the one night had passed, he was only on day two.
Overall, it no longer felt as insurmountable a task, and as such when Elesa strode out of her gym looking rather flustered, he didn’t hesitate in following her.
“Honestly,” she was muttering, “checking your xtransceiver cannot be that hard…”
She enters Gear Station, and he follows. Her jacket, bright yellow, is easy enough to follow through the crowd— thankfully, the station is still relatively quiet, compared to that morning. She strides confidently to the multi-line, as if she knows exactly where to find E——, and she must have some sort of schedule memorized, because the train is just pulling in to a stop as they come down the stairs.
Maybe, once, he had that schedule too.
She stands to the side, face thunderous enough that the people coming off the train don’t stop to stare as they might have otherwise, foot tapping impatiently until E—— finally disembarks.
“Oooh, told you,” the trainer next to him hisses through their teeth, looking at Elesa with wide eyes, but Ingo doesn’t—
He—
E—— is right there, finally, not about to be carried out of reach again, not in a way that he cannot follow, and—
Ingo still cannot recall his name.
“Really!” Elesa is saying, “I know that it’s— soon, but you can’t just— cut us all off again. We’re still here— we’re still…” she pauses, glancing at the stairs as if she’s expecting a stampede, before continuing- “we’re all still looking for him. Drayden, Iris, all of us.”
His brother, still smiling, lowers his hat. Ingo notes that the other trainer has made themself scarce.
“I am ———,” says his brother, a sound just like stepping through Arceus’s portal, a soft kshhh . “I am not trying to cut you off.”
Ingo thinks he might have said his name.
“———,” says Elesa, looking heartbroken, “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”
“I know that. I am fine. The anniversary is not for another five days.”
“If you’re fine, then why didn’t you answer any of my calls? I know you get breaks, ———, you must have seen them.”
E—— doesn’t say anything. Eventually, Elesa opens her arms for a hug— Ingo wishes he could do the same, but he doesn’t so much as dare reach out for his twin. He thinks passing through him like a ghost would break him.
“I’ve taken the rest of the week off,” says Elesa, into E——‘s shoulder.
“What?” Say E—— and Ingo at the same time. E—— continues, “You are a gym leader. You cannot afford to take frivolous time off.”
Elesa pulls back from the hug to look E—— in the eye— she’s cried, it seems, during the time her face was hidden from the world, “I would hardly call this frivolous, ———. I want you to take the rest of the week off too.”
E—— looks down, and Elesa allows him the time— finally, he says, quiet, “I am ———. I already have.”
Elesa pulls him into another hug. Ingo feels as though he is intruding on something horribly private.
He goes back up the stairs to find security blocking people from attempting to ride the multi line. It warms him, a bit— clearly, these are good people that E—— works with.
He waits in the station until E—— and Elesa come up the stairs, both looking somewhat rung out. Elesa conjures a smile for the cameras that flash at them— startling Ingo terribly— and E—— doesn’t— he is still smiling, even now.
They exit Gear Station, the three of them, and E—— and Elesa walk arm-in-arm to nearby apartments, breaking apart at the stairwell to go to different floors. Which one Ingo follows isn’t a question.
E—— takes a moment outside one of the doors dotting the hallway— he would likely prefer to take this moment without an invisibly voyeur, so Ingo takes the initiative to step through the door first.
There are Pokémon loose in the apartment, he notes.
A red, blue, and yellow one is in the kitchen, arguing passionately with a tall, sort-of-familiar green one. A Joltik— he recalls, and for some reason the name brings with it the lightest twinge of annoyance— is dangling from the living room ceiling by a thread, two of its little legs flailing about. Ingo walks under it, watching as it spins, ever so slowly. Neither of the Pokémon in the kitchen seem to notice.
E—— lets himself in, removing his coat at the door to hang it on a hook. His hat goes on the same hook, despite there being an unused hook right next to the first. Then he takes note of the Pokémon in the kitchen, who have both adopted rather Munchlax in the storehouse expressions.
Silence reigns as they stare at each other.
The Joltik disconnects from its thread, dropping through Ingo to hit the floor with a soft plop.
It’s enough to break the stalemate— and also make Ingo jump horribly again, though he’d rather ignore that bit— and E—— finally speaks.
“Are you arguing over Earthquake again?”
Both of the Pokémon guiltily avoid eye contact. E——‘s smile turns genuine for the first time Ingo recalls, and he shakes his head. “Archeops, I am not taking Earthquake off of Haxorus. Arguing with Haxorus will not change this.”
“Aer,” says Archeops, sounding put-out.
Haxorus makes more of a humph noise, sounding triumphant, before taking one of the berries Ingo had initially overlooked on the counter.
All the time that had passed, and Oran berries looked just the same.
Haxorus took another berry to give to Archeops, who held it above their head like a personal victory, scuttering out of the kitchen.
“I am ———,” says E—— to the gathered Pokémon, “we are going on a vacation.”
“Trik-tik-tik,” says the Joltik, climbing his pant leg. It is unclear how much of that is the Joltik responding and how much it’s the Joltik simply making noise.
“Not very far,” says E—— anyways, “To Anville town. With Elesa.”
Archeops does a loop of the living room with the berry, before taking off down the hallway— THUD .
Both E—— and Ingo lean over to see what’s happened— Archeops has run into a closed door.
A round, pale face pokes through the door, looking down at Archeops, who has dropped the berry in favour of holding their bruised nose.
The rest of the Pokémon— because that must be what that is, a Pokémon— drifts through, offering Archeops one of its thin black limbs to help it stand, and—
Oh.
Chandelure.
That’s his partner Pokémon, the one he had raised from a Litwick alongside Em——‘s Tynamo.
“Would you like to come, Chandelure?”
Chandelure looks up from Archeops, and bobs her head in a nod, ponderously slow. Archeops thrusts the berry into her face, and she leans back to examine it before accepting it, burning it up in one of her flames.
“I am ———. That is good.”
Why does he continue to introduce himself? Ingo imagines all their Pokémon must know his name by now— and if it was an odd, sudden quirk— some sort of, feeling he was there, feeling he needed to know ———‘s name, then surely Elesa would have commented on it?
Then Ingo looks at E——‘s face again— really, truly looks, and—
Well, if they had been raised together, as brothers, as twins, then… it only made sense to have some way to tell them apart. Beyond clothing, of course, because clothing could always change.
E—— bustles about the apartment, producing a suitcase, which he packs with help from his Pokémon. The door that Chandelure had come through remains closed, and Ingo only needs to poke his head through once to realize— that room, it’s his. It doesn’t look as though it’s been touched in years, though it is studiously clean.
He doesn’t step inside.
Once Em—— is finished packing, he recalls all of the previously loose Pokémon into their balls— spare the Joltik, which remains on his shoulder— and sets out the door.
They meet up with Elesa at the bottom of the stairwell, and together they return to Gear Station, and board the train to Anville Town.
Which presents a problem that Ingo hadn’t even thought of until that moment.
Of course, he had been walking through people, and Pokémon, and doors as much as he pleased (which truthfully wasn’t much) and yet he had managed to forget that he could not ride trains until he was standing inside one.
As Elesa and E—— make themselves comfortable, Ingo’s frown deepens, and he experimentally reaches out to one of the poles meant to help people maintain their balance. His hand passes through it, of course.
Try again. How was he standing? If this was the logic of how it all worked, bound to pass through no matter what, he should have fallen through the earth the moment he set foot in Nimbasa. So he could touch things, if only he could—
Chandelure had struggled with that, but in reverse. Of course, Chandelure’s in general are a good deal more solid than most ghost types, but she was ghost type all the same, and she had managed. Ingo had encouraged her, hadn’t he? What had he said?
The doors to the station slide shut. He doesn’t have very long to figure this out— and if he fails, Anville could very well be five day’s worth of walking away.
Determined, he tries again, first with both hands and then with just one— feeling the slightest resistance this time, but not enough to convince him he wasn’t just imagining it.
The train begins to rumble under him.
Elesa makes a terrible joke, and Em—— throws his head back as he groans— he cannot leave them again, cannot let this be how he fails Arceus’s trial, because of a train— a train that lurches to life under him, and he would have fallen if it were not for his grip on the pole.
His grip on the— he’s doing it! He doesn’t dare loosen his grasp, in case doing so flings him out the back, but he’s doing it, and the train is moving, and he’s still aboard!
“Bravo, Ingo,” he says, entirely to himself.
They travel through the tunnels for what must be an hour, perhaps more— Elesa falls asleep on Em——‘s shoulder, so he doesn’t have to worry about unintentionally intruding on any more private moments. Eventually the train takes a slight upwards slant, and he follows Em——‘s cue to look out the window just in time for the train to emerge from underground, onto a wide grassy field. He sees Pokémon he doesn’t recognize, and Pokémon he does— some soaring in the sky, a daring herd of Zebstrika racing the train, others tumbling in the grass, and then it all vanishes into the cool shade of a forest.
Ingo does not think he could love trains more than he does in this moment.
He stays like that, staring out into the trees until Elesa finally stirs, sitting up with a yawn and a stretch.
“Where are we?” She asks, hair mussed from sleep.
“I am ———. We are almost there.” Em—— turns from the window— they had both been staring out it— and goes to stand. “I am going to—“
What he is going to do, Ingo never finds out. Em—— reaches out to the pole, to help him balance as he stands, and his hand lands overtop Ingo’s. They both start horribly, yanking their hands back in surprise, and Ingo has maybe a moment to process the surprised look on Em——‘s face, and then another to think to himself ‘uh oh,’ and then he is shoved backwards off the train as if by some great invisible force.
.•.•.•.
When he opens his eyes, it is night.
First, he thinks this; that was rather unfair. He was travelling at the same speed as the train, the law of inertia should have dictated that he would continue to do so. He should have had trouble stopping, not continuing to go.
His second thought is this; what in the name of the almighty sinnoh is inertia.
Third; what time is it.
He sits up, checks his hat— which is still firmly attached to his head, his bracelet— which is still firmly attached to his wrist, and then the rest of him for anything in less than optimal condition.
‘Unable to break bones’ is swiftly added to the list of pros of being stuck like this, which is still heavily outweighed by the con of ‘unable to ride trains properly or safely’.
It had likely only been a number of hours, much like the previous time he had lost time, though it did happen differently. He surmises the direction they had been travelling, based off of how he had landed. If he was wrong, well; it would likely only be an hour or two of added travel. He found heart in E——‘s words— ‘We are almost there.’ Hardly a five-day walk, in any case.
He cannot find the moon through the trees, and risking losing the tracks for a better idea of the time seems unwise. Any Pokémon that may be awake must be keeping their distance from the tracks, or are otherwise exceptionally stealthy, as he cannot see any.
He had noticed in Nimbasa, that he hadn’t felt especially tired after wandering the city, but he had simply marked it down as the tamer city-scape— Coronet Highlands could be brutal, especially for his first week-month-year of living in Hisui, but he had adjusted.
But now, the sun was beginning to card its fingers through the pines, and he did not feel tired at all.
It had been a number of hours— of that, he was certain. The moon had finally emerged to hang over him on the tracks, before sinking back into the trees, and now, clearly, the sun was beginning to rise.
That wasn’t all, of course, he had, at last, glimpsed a train station. And attached to the train station was a town, and he set foot on its streets as it came awake. The hour was still too early for most, but a few enterprising folks were up with the sun.
Anville Town was much quieter than Nimbasa had been— was quieter than Jubilife, or even the Pearl Clan settlement. It reminded him of the nights he would spend out with Lady Sneasler, when there was nothing but the wind, distant cries from distant Pokémon, and, on occasion, Melli.
There’s no Melli here, though, and no Lady Sneasler. Just a small town that he doesn’t really recognize.
The tracks into town continue past where he had disembarked, going under a bridge. He stands atop that bridge now, watching the early risers of Anville Town for either Elesa or E——. Hopefully, they hadn’t decided to return to Nimbasa, but if they had— well, it was simply a matter of finding out, as he was fairly certain he would be able to ride the train back.
Provided no one grabbed where he had been holding— which brought that moment back to the forefront of his mind, again. It wasn’t exactly as if E—— had put his hand on the back of Ingo’s, more like their hands inhabited the same space, however momentarily, and they could feel it.
E——‘s hand had been warm.
A girl jogs past him, distracting him from his thoughts. She leans back on the railing of the bridge, taking a deep breath before raising a thin silver object to her face, and the gentle tones of a flute begin to fill the air.
It’s different from the Celestica Flutes he’s used to— a clearer, higher tone, but it’s a flute all the same.
A handful of bird Pokémon come down to land on the railing around her, one going so far as to roost on her head. This seems to be a common occurrence, if the way her playing doesn’t even falter is any indication. Curious how even now, even here, Pokémon are still drawn to the flute.
Perhaps things truly haven’t changed that much, over the ages.
He continues into town, leaving the flutes long notes behind him.
He finds a house with two Emolga perched on the roof— two Emolga that he recognizes from Elesa’s team. They’re taking turns grooming each other.
He considers briefly stepping inside, but it would be incredibly rude to enter when not invited.
(The apartment had been different. The apartment was theirs.)
Thankfully, he is spared the debate between waiting or exploring Anville by Elesa, who pushes the door open to take in the morning air.
“Cmon, ———,” she’s saying, over her shoulder, “it’s not much of a vacation if you don’t get out of the house!”
“I am ———,” his brother responds from further inside, “I did not know you were an early riser.”
“I can get up early when I need to.” Elesa sets her hands on her hips, looking clean through Ingo, before turning back into the house. “Cmon, I wanna see that spot you were telling me about yesterday!”
“We have not been there since we were children.” E—— finally joins her, flanked by Eelektross and Chandelure. “It will not be the same.”
“Don’t you wanna see how it’s changed?”
“… Not really.”
“Well I do, cmon! It’s in the woods, right? I will get lost in the woods on my own, ———.”
“That sounds like a threat,” says E——, squinting at her. Elesa grins wide as anything, “That’s because it is!”
A childhood hang out? That would likely make Anville the town they grew up in, then. He lifts the brim of his cap a bit, taking in the surrounding buildings with renewed eyes— nothing.
No memory at all.
E—— walks clean through him. Ingo only realizes that it’s happened at all by the time he’s looking at his back. There is no pause in his brothers stride, and when he turns back to look at Elesa, there is nothing on his face to indicate that he felt anything at all.
Disappointing. That’s what it is— he had hoped, however obliquely, that perhaps he would be allowed some sort of connection with Em——, something to let his brother know that he was there.
However, given the circumstance of the initial contact, it was more likely that it was whatever he had done to let him hold onto the train that allowed it to happen. It could have just as easily happened with Elesa.
It was disappointing that that was not the case.
He steps aside just in time for Elesa to pass by, and then frowns down at his hands. How, exactly, had he done it? Could he do it again, to communicate? Hopefully he could manage again if they were to catch the train back to Nimbasa anywhere in the next handful of days.
He tries to imagine holding onto something, and experimentally passes his hand through one of the walls. No luck.
Frown still firmly in place, he follows Em——‘s and Elesa’s trail into the woods.
Unfettered by foliage, he catches up with them swiftly. E—— is expounding upon how they first discovered this spot, and the apparent pains they went to to fix it up.
Eelektross occasionally joins in with an enthusiastic “Tross!” paired with a gesture, but it does little more than make Elesa laugh. Chandelure is silent, drifting along like a leaf in the breeze. He thinks— he thinks he remembers her being more active than that. Is it because she misses him? He hopes not, that his disappearance could cause such lasting pain in those that care for him.
It isn’t until they reach the place that any memory returns at all, despite Em——‘s storytelling. It’s a bit of a clearing, dominated by a large tree with a ramshackle treehouse hanging off of it.
The treehouse itself is what does it— he looks up at the sign dangling off of its balcony, smeared with black and white paint, proudly proclaiming ‘Ing-’s -nd E——‘- T—ehouse’— he recalls trying to hang it just so, that it would be visible upon entering the station from the tracks that they had uncovered together, arguing with Emm— over placement and height, how proud they had been once it was done.
Elesa takes one look at it and announces “That’s so cute! I have to look inside.”
“It is verrrry unsafe! The ladder has not seen any maintenance since we moved.”
“It’ll be fine! If I fall you can yell at me.”
Eelektross glides in front of the ladder before Elesa starts climbing, shaking its head fervently. Then he points at the pair of Emolga perched on her shoulders, and then up at the treehouse.
One of the Emolga gets the message much faster than the other, standing up to pat its chest self-importantly— “Emo emo!”— before leaping off and scrabbling up the ladder.
Elesa chuckles as the other Emolga chases the first, “Right, right, I forgot Eelektross is as much of a stickler for safety as you are.”
“Safety first!” Both Ingo and Em—— say at once. Elesa laughs, and Ingo suddenly gets the feeling that she never intended on climbing the ladder in the first place, that she knew one of them would stop her, that she could bring this little bit of life back into the clearing.
Em—— must pick up on this as well, as he doesn’t carry the topic further, instead furrowing his brows a bit as he looks away from the treehouse, “Chandelure would do the same. Where did she go?”
“What do you mean?” Asks Elesa, a hint of humour still in her tone, “She’s staring right at me.”
“Ah,” says Em——, finding Chandelure from Elesa’s gesture, tucked into the tree line.
But Elesa’s wrong.
It’s not her that Chandelure is staring at.
Hesitantly, Ingo takes two steps to the left. Chandelure follows him with its wide moon eyes. It looks a second away from diving at him, and Ingo—
He imagines what it would be— Chandelure, a ghost type, able to commune with ghosts, tackling an invisible figure to the ground, here, outside a treehouse that had been so important to them when they were younger— what would Em—— think she was seeing?
Ingo is not a ghost. He cannot allow his brother to think that he is.
He holds a hand up to Chandelure, and she looks on the edge of tears. He looks to Elesa, who is now frowning at Chandelure, to Em——, who is trying to coordinate the Emolgas return to earth from the treehouse, and strides into the woods past her.
“Ah, she’s—“ starts Elesa, only to be cut off by Emm—‘s “It is alright! She knows these woods very well.”
“Alright…” says Elesa, uncertain— in any case, Ingo doesn’t go far enough to lose sight of the treehouse, only far enough so that Em—— cannot see as Chandelure looks at him as he he had—
“I am not dead, Chandelure,” is the very first thing he says to his Pokémon after five years.
Chandelure jingles, as if in disagreement, swiping one of her spindly limbs through his torso— unlike Em——, earlier, her touch is cold, and he recoils. She immediately sighs sadly, looking apologetic, and it takes him a moment to recover himself.
“I know what it appears as, but I assure you, I am not dead. I am simply… at a slightly different station.” That gets Chandelures attention, and she finally lets out a croaky sounding “Lure…”
“It is a long story to explain. I am not sure why I am visible to you now, as I was not earlier—“ and he has to pause there as his Pokémon grows distressed, to explain that no, he really hasn’t been here that long, she doesn’t have to worry about having ignored him for a terrible length of time, they only really met the once previously, yesterday, in the apartment, “— but I am visible to you now. I made a deal with Arceus— yes, Chandelure, I will explain in-depth later!— that I have a week to recall— to remember E—… to recall my brothers name. My memories are thoroughly derailed, at present.”
Chandelure sinks a bit as she thinks over what she’s been told— which is fair, even abbreviated, it’s quite the story to hear. Something occurs to her, and she looks up at him with an expression of distress, flames swirling.
“What is it?” He asks, and she responds “Lure— chande chandelure!” He, of course, doesn’t understand what she means by this, and she looks to the left and right before darting back towards the treehouse.
Elesa and Em—— are seated at the ground by the tree’s roots, looking through a pile of treasures that the Emolgas had recovered, all train-themed when Chandelure comes back in, darting straight to Eelektross who is curled around his trainer.
“Oh, hello Chandelure,” says Elesa.
“Lure!” Says Chandelure, forcefully, and both Em—— and Elesa jolt, turning to her with looks of bewilderment.
“Did she just—“ starts Elesa.
“Chandelure! You are speaking again!”
Chandelure looks up from Eelektross to Em——, bobbing her head furiously. “Chandelure! Lure!!!”
He wonders what it is she’s trying to communicate with such urgency. Perhaps his presence? Though he’s certain she understands— what Em—— would think, to know his brother was here, invisible.
“Geez,” says Elesa, slowly setting down the water damaged drawing of a train one of them had done, “a day out here and it’s already helping— Chandelure hasn’t said anything since Ingo— went missing, right?”
“Yep…” says Em——, looking about their clearing uncertainly— Ingo hopes he hasn’t followed Ingo’s train of thought regarding Chandelure. He finds himself stepping behind Elesa anyways, as though he could hide himself from his brothers concerns.
He’s not a ghost, after all.
Hold on, had Elesa said a day?
A day— but they had only arrived last night, and it had been climbing into evening— a day would imply a full cycle of the sun, a day would mean that they had slept and awoken and slept again— a day would mean he only had three left.
And he still could not remember his brothers name.
When he comes back to himself next— and that is the third time he’s lost time like that— Em—— and Elesa are still seated by the tree, Chandelure is glued to his side as if he is about to disappear again, and Eelektross keeps sneaking glances at her as if he’s trying to see Ingo. Which he probably is— the Emolga, too, are looking about like lookouts, occasionally chattering to each other excitedly.
“The Pokémon are very restless.” Says Em——.
“They probably want us to get going, hey guys?”
“Trossss…” Eelektross says, like a deflating Drifloon.
“Luuuuure…” Chandelure agrees.
“I will still be with you,” says Ingo, “now that you can see me, I am still right here.”
Chandelure doesn’t look at him, or respond, but she floats just a bit higher, presses herself just a bit further into his shoulder.
“All aboard!” Says Em——, and Ingo instinctively poses with him. The Emolga take a few seconds to studiously gather up the scattered papers, replacing them in the treehouse, and then they are returned to Anville town.
It’s much more awake now, a few people recognizing Elesa and Em—— as they come out of the bushes, waving and smiling. One person in particular lights up— “I heard you were in town! Can we battle?”
It’s nigh impossible for Em—— to turn such an eager request for a battle down, and Elesa knows it too. They find a battle field just on the outskirts of town, and the trainer sends out their first two Pokémon— a Luxray and a Floatzel. Em—— selects Haxorus and Archeops at the same time, and the battle is on.
The trainer— whoever they are— manages to hold their own decently well against this first pair— both Luxray and Archeops go down to an earthquake, the Floatzel heavily disoriented by the shaking earth but able to outspeed Haxorus into an Ice Beam anyway.
Em—— grins wider, next conducting Eelektross and Chandelure onto the field, to pair up against the opposing trainers Drifblim and Skuntank.
“Eelektross, use Thunderbolt on Skuntank, Chandelure, Shadow Ball on Drifblim!”
Eelektross obeys instantly, crackling with energy, but Chandelure only drifts uncertainly. The opposing Drifblim takes the opportunity to blow a freezing Ominous Wind over the both of them, causing Chandelure’s flames to diminish.
Em—— notices the lack action from Chandelure, giving her a worried look before returning his attention to Eelektross, who is struggling against a body slam from Skuntank.
“Chandelure,” says Ingo, “what is the meaning of this? You have been directed to battle.”
“Lure.” Says Chandelure in response, sounding resolute.
“Surely you cannot mean for me to direct you? Chandelure, I can barely recall any of your moves— look out!”
Chandelure drops under a Shadow Ball from the Drifblim, dodging it perfectly, before giving Ingo the smuggest look he’s ever seen from a chandelier.
He knows a losing battle when he sees one, and so with a sigh he steps forwards to stand next to his brother. It’s a bit awkward entering a battle like this, but it never has been awkward battling next to his twin.
“Chandelure, use Will-O-Wisp on Skuntank!”
Chandelure makes a low groaning noise, before her flames shoot up to a new high, covering the battlefield in shades of purple and blue, the will-o-wisp catching Skuntank on the side and forcing it off of Eelektross.
Without even a hiccup in his battle stride, Em—— directs Eelektross to use Crunch on Drifblim, catching one of its trailing appendages. The Drifblim wails, preparing another Shadow Ball, causing Eelektross to withdraw before the attack can impact.
“Together now,” Ingo says, and realizes he is saying it in sync with his twin, “Use Psychic and Discharge!”
Both of their Pokémon respond with affirmative sounds, unleashing the powerful attacks in tandem. Both Drifblim and Skuntank fall, recalled by their trainer, and Ingo can almost— almost —
Emm—
Emm!
Emm, he’s certain that’s how it begins, his brothers name— he could write it down if he wanted, E-m-m. Perhaps he had realized that much for a while, but this was the first that it felt so close, so tangible.
And he still cannot recall the rest of it, with only two-and-a-bit days left.
Frustration wells even as Chandelure lurches towards him, fires spinning merrily. She recalls herself at the last moment, instead bumping against Emm as if he were the one to conduct her to victory. He has little doubt that if it were anyone else in his position— Emm or Elesa or the Drayden and Iris that he so vaguely recalls— they would have already figured it out, wouldn’t have missed so much time— and entire day! Gone, wasted, vanished just like that.
He wonders if, perhaps, that very frustration is how Emm feels towards him.
“Good job,” says the Trainer, smiling. And for the first time, Ingo notices that they do not have a face.
There is a space for a face to be, yes. Even looking at them now, Ingo can tell that they are smiling— the open mouthed, toothy kind, when you are genuinely pleased about something and not aware of the expression on your face. But he cannot see it.
Hesitantly, he turns to look at Emm and Elesa, trying to gauge if they’ve noticed anything out of the ordinary about this trainer, but if they have, they don’t say anything.
Could it be that this is simply someone he’s never met before? Some sort of block from Arceus to keep him focused on the important things?
Or is it—
“You’re doing very well.” Says the Trainer, and they are looking directly at Ingo.
“I am ———,” says Emm, “I would like to battle again sometime. Goodbye.”
“He thinks I’m saying something different,” elaborates the Trainer, smile softening into something else now. “Arceus did not think you would be doing nearly so well. They do not want to go back on their word.”
“Who are you?” Asks Ingo.
“I am a Trainer. From Sinnoh. I built my team of Pokémon that wished to follow me.”
That hardly answers his question. Ingo tries again, “What are you?”
“You knew me as Sinnoh,” answers the Trainer. “I am here to ensure you are well. You are the last member of my Pearl Clan.”
“Lady— Lord Palkia?”
“Yes. Both. Neither.” They look mischievous now, eyes alight with laughter, “Whichever you prefer, Warden Ingo.”
“Lady Palkia,” he decides, “I— I am honoured by your presence—“
“Warden. You were far from the most devoted of my Clan.”
“Ah,” says Ingo, before beginning to apologize, only to be cut off by Palkia raising a hand.
“It was nice. I can see both timelines, both spaces that you are to occupy. I see you in Hisui. I see you home. In either place, you do me proud.”
“So, then— I could still fail.”
“Yes. And no. If it comes to it. Dialga is very unhappy about their time being so disrupted. Arceus is ignoring them.” The sense of mischief from Palkia only grows, “We have a plan. We do not like to be separated either. We fight, yes, but there cannot be one without the other.”
“Lady Palkia, I am not sure that I understand what it is that you’re getting at.”
“You will. Maybe. Keep trying. This is a good space for you. I will return you to your brothers space now. Goodbye, Warden Ingo. We will meet again. Or not.”
Ingo blinks, and he’s standing in a room he doesn’t recognize, next to Emm. Elesa is there too, sprawled across the couch, one leg tossed over the back.
“— to eat?” Says Emm.
Elesa responds, but Ingo disregards them, instead turning to the door, about to return to the training fields before pausing— Palkia would likely be gone.
Then he sits down, through Elesa’s legs, and puts his face in his hands.
If you had told him yesterday, even, that he would have such a candid, confusing conversation with the god of the Pearl Clan— with the almighty Sinnoh— he wouldn’t believe you, even with the knowledge that he was here on Arceus’s grace alone.
“Ugh, it’s cold in here,” complains Elesa, withdrawing her legs, sitting up into a cross legged position. The table moves to— oh, that’s not a table, that’s a Pokémon— to pass her a blanket, which she accepts.
“I can turn up the thermostat.” Says Emm.
“Don’t you dare,” answers Elesa, “You always turn it way too far.”
“Yes?” Says Emm, “So that it will get warm faster.”
That does make sense. Unlike a good 80% of what Palkia had said. Ingo nods along mostly to distract himself.
“No, that’s not how it— look, I’m fine, I’ve got a blanket. Thank you, Crustle.”
“Alright.” Says Emm. “I am going to make lunch now.”
Ingo lingers until lunch is done and they’re both eating before excusing himself, stepping through the door and back outside. He had grown up here, hadn’t he? Perhaps wandering the town would stir up further memories.
By the time the sun has set, Ingo has recalled a further few facts about himself and Emm. That Drayden is their uncle, the very first time they had ridden a train together, and that Emm had broken a bone for the very first time falling out of the treehouse— before they had patched it up at all. It was that very incident that lead to ‘Safety first!’ becoming a bit of a motto for them.
It still feels like so frustratingly little, but with his encounter with Lady Palkia so close to mind, it’s hard to feel negatively about it.
It had taken five years in Hisui for him to recall even the vaguest idea of Emms existence, after all.
Chandelure is hovering outside the front door, fretting. She lights up— quite literally, he has to shield his eyes for a moment— upon seeing him, swirling over to wrap both her spindly arms around one of his. It’s not quite contact, but the intent is there.
“Terribly sorry about departing so abruptly, Chandelure. Lady Palkia wished to have a word.”
“Chan.” Says Chandelure.
“I suppose you are quite correct— I take it both… Emm and Elesa are asleep?”
Chandelure bobs her head in an affirmative.
“Then we have plenty of time. I shall do my utmost to explain my time in Hisui.”
Which he does. Chandelure listens intently, humming, before finally releasing his arm to hover before his face as he shares the details of the deal he made with Arceus. She makes as if to grab his face with her little flames, round-moon face as determined as he’s ever seen it.
Ingo smiles fondly, reaching up as if to place a hand on her glass, “Right. I suppose Arceus should have a bit of a fight on their hands should I fail, hm?”
Chandelure’s expression says that Arceus is going to have a fight on their hands either way. Ingo decides not to bring up the downsides to antagonizing god.
Inside the house, something smashes.
Ingo trips over himself in his haste to get inside, to see what’s happened, Chandelure at his shoulder. At first, it looks as though nothing at all has changed in the quiet living room-kitchen, but then Chandelure lets out a quiet keening sound and lurches forward, casting Emm in gentle shades of blue and purple.
He’s sitting on the floor, a smashed picture frame on the ground. There are tears on his face.
“Chandelure,” he says, “I cannot find him.”
Chandelure keens, low, and gives Ingo a look that is nothing but pure desperation as she pushes into Emm’s side.
She doesn’t need to, of course. There is nothing that could stop Ingo, in this moment, from going to his brother.
He steps over the picture frame, kneels before Emm. His hands shake, slightly, as he holds them forwards.
On his first try, they pass through his shoulders. The same on his second, third, fourth. Chandelure watches, silent as the grave, as Ingo struggles.
He cannot say how many times he has tried by the time he finally succeeds.
Emm jumps, eyes going from vacant to wide as he raises his head, looking clean through Ingo.
Ingo, careful not to break contact, slowly draws Emm into a hug.
Emm tries to reach back, hug back, but his arms just pass through when he tries. Chandelure swings around, shoving herself into Ingo’s chest cavity so that Emm has something to hold onto, and—
Emm wails.
.•.•.•.
Elesa has never had the best hearing. Still, in the dead of the night, hearing aids on her bedside stand, she thinks she could have heard through a thunderstorm to hear ——— crying.
She doesn’t bother putting them in. She doesn’t bother to do much more than cram her slippers on, because if ——— is crying like that at this hour, then he’s probably broken something.
She finds him, in the living room, clinging to Chandelure like he’s dying. The shattered remains of a picture frame are on the ground in front of him, and she gathers enough context clues from that to drop to her knees next to him, wrapping one arm across his back and the other across Chandelure’s, humming.
They’ll pick up the glass in the morning, pick out a new frame for the photo. She’ll ply ——— with tissues and water. Everything will be okay, but he so clearly needs this moment of venting.
Then an invisible hand presses down on her back, and Elesa shoots to her feet with a screech. There’s an unpleasant feeling, like something’s passed through her entire body as she does so, and she staggers back a step, face paling. What on earth was that?
It couldn’t be an errant ghost type— Chandelure was right there, and she wouldn’t put up with anything of that degree. A Zoroark, maybe? But that was nothing— nothing— like what a Zoroark could do. (And, surely a Zoroark wouldn’t pretend to be Chandelure. It would pretend to…… be………)
“Ingo?”
Silence. She hopes it’s because she cannot hear the answer, though she’s never listened for one so hard in her life.
Then Chandelure makes a distressed keening sound, and it feels like the whole world comes crashing down.
He’s dead.
.•.•.•.
Emm—, Emm—, Emm—, he’s just two letters short, he’s sure of it, certain, but he cannot recall what they are— but he needs to, now more than ever, because—
Because he’s been an idiot, and now—
Elesa sinks to the ground, slowly, as if her legs simply cannot hold her up any longer. Emm— no longer wails, voice broken. Their neighbours must think someone is dying.
Maybe someone is.
“Why now,” asks Elesa, “Why are you here— now. We— Ingo, we do this trip every year, why are you only here now? Have you been— gathering energy, or—“ she looks as if she’s choking on her next words, “or did something…”
“I am not dead,” he says, though neither can hear him. Emm— makes a stifled sound, and Ingo realizes he can no longer feel the warmth of his back— hands as intangible as the rest of him again. He sits back, allowing Chandelure space. “Elesa, Emm—, I am not dead! ”
Elesa reaches out, as if to find him through touch alone, and when that fails, she creeps forwards until she can pull Emm— into a hug again. Ingo should have left that to her in the first place.
They stay like that until morning finds them.
“Okay,” is the first thing Elesa says, into the dawn. “Okay. We need to— call, call Drayden, maybe. Or, um, Sh… Shauntal.”
“I am ———. I do not want to call either of them.”
Ingo cannot listen to this conversation. He cannot be anywhere else.
“Chandelure, please— is there anything you can do to— convince them that I am still alive?”
At almost the same time,
“Chandelure. Is— is Ingo still here?”
Chandelure sinks until her body touches the floor, rolling uncertainly.
Ingo feels terrible for having put her in such a spot— his request is unreasonable, would still be unreasonable if they shared a language.
And Emm—, Emm— has never understood Chandelure as well as Ingo did.
“Can you not sense him?” Elesa asks, watching the ghost type roll.
“Lure,” Chandelure answers, looking as though she’d rather like to be one with the flooring.
“What.” Says Emm—, “What do you mean you cannot sense him? You are a ghost type. Ingo is a—“ and then words fail him, as if what he was about to say caught up with and choked him. “Ingo is—“
Chandelure perks up suddenly, lifting off— lifting out of, she had been sinking into the floor, cheeky thing— the floor, and shaking her whole body left to right. When that only gets her looks of bafflement, she crosses her spindly arms in front of her, shaking harder.
“… No?” Ventures Elesa, voice croaky.
Chandelure points at her and jingles enthusiastically.
“Oh, bravo Chandelure. Bravo.”
“He’s not here?” Elesa tries next, and Chandelure crosses her arms again.
“He’s— he— Chandelure, is he— alive?”
Chandelure pauses, and then does her best mimicry of a shrug.
“You don’t know?”
“I— Chandelure! We have been over this, I am not dead!”
Chandelure nods, pauses, shakes her head, and then mostly just looks conflicted.
“Yes— no. You… it’s hard to tell? He’s still here?”
Chandelure’s face eases, and she nods easily.
“Oh…” Elesa presses a hand to her mouth, looking about the room as if she can find him.
“Ingo. Are you dead?” Emm— asks, point blank. He looks lost. He looks like he’s hinging on his answer.
“I am not—“ starts Ingo. Chandelure shakes her head.
Emm— presses a hand to his chest, and breathes in like he hasn’t once since last night.
Then the deluge starts.
“Where are you? Why can we not see you? Is something keeping you from us? Where have you been? Are you disconnected from your body? Why could I feel you? Can you touch Chandelure?” A pause, and then, “YOU WERE ON THE TRAIN!”
“Oh! That’s why you— you felt Ingo’s, uh, hand then?”
“Yup! I thought I was imagining it, I was verrry worried! How long have you been following us?”
Chandelure looks between Ingo (overwhelmed) and Emm— (eager) several times. “Chhh…” she says, “Lu.. re?”
“That is not verrry helpful, Chandelure.”
Elesa smacks him on the shoulder, “Of course not, she can’t answer that! Yes or no questions, ———. Have you been following us since you vanished?”
Like that, they work out several details. That Ingo hasn’t been here that long, try as they might they cannot guess what might have done this to him, and they cannot guess where he was. It’s a bit frustrating, having answers for— for all of it, right there, but unable to communicate.
“Are you— no, do you know how long you’ll be here for?”
“How long? Er, is it another week?”
“… Is it longer or shorter than— Ugh, is it longer than a week? Shorter !?”
“A day? Two days? Two days ?!”
Emm— shoots to his feet, looking like he needs to go somewhere but he hasn’t the slightest where. “How can we keep you here?” He asks.
“Is there anything we can do to keep you here?” Elesa corrects.
Chandelure and Ingo shrug in sync— she’s gotten rather familiar with the story at this point. Then something evidently occurs to her, and she points to Emm—, jingling excitedly.
“Something I can do?” He asks, she nods.
“What? Er, how can I— no, this is verrrry difficult!”
“Is it something only ——— can do? No? Is it— something… related to ———?”
“… Drayden?”
“Wrong kind of related, ———. Is it, uh… ———, have you angered any psychic types lately?”
“No. One of the trainers on the subway had an Alakazam. It was verrrry strong, yup.”
“Okay, yeah, I can’t think of anything.”
Emm— begins to pace, worrying at his lip with his teeth.
And then he says it. Likely out of jest, an attempt to lighten the darkening mood, “Do I need to fight Arceus to keep you here?”
“No,” says Ingo.
Chandelure ignores him to give the most enthusiastic yes she can manage.
Emm— stops his pacing to stare as Chandelure bobs her whole body, pointing at him, chiming and swirling.
It’s Elesa who speaks next.
“Okay, where do we find it?”
“This is ill-advised,” Ingo says, again, to the backs of their heads. The three of them are crowded about the pc, trying to pick apart facts and legend. They aren’t having much luck of it, given how much seems to be classified by the Sinnoh government.
Which does make sense. If it was common knowledge where one might find Arceus…
Well. Ingo imagines a lot of pokeballs would go to waste, at the bare minimum.
Or, a lot more people would be doing what Emm— and Elesa are currently trying to.
Which is fight it.
Elesa’s bracelet buzzes, and she jumps, before frowning down at it. “What on earth?” She mutters, as Emm— clicks on something that looks like it’s going to give this computer a virus, “My Xtransceiver? I swear turned it off.”
“Turn it off again,” says Emm—, now attempting to back out. The computer keeps asking him if he wants to know Arceus. Ingo gets the sense that it means more in the ‘Almighty Sinnoh’ fashion than the ‘challenge to a Pokémon battle’ fashion.
“Yeah, I just… huh.” She falls silent, fiddling with her Xtran, making several hard to decipher faces, before finally settling on “What the fuck.”
Emm— looks over, squinting down at the tiny screen. “What is that number?”
“I dunno, it keeps— yeah, look! It keeps changing!”
“That is verrrry weird, yup. What did it send you? Spam?”
“No, it sent me a link and… a thumbs up emoji?”
“What is the link?”
“I dunno, I’m not clicking that.”
Emm— looks at the computer, considering. “Read it out to me. I will type it in.”
Elesa does, and as the website loads she gasps, “They’re typing!” Both Emm— and Ingo lean over to see what this mystery number has to say. Perhaps some sort of prank? Likely.
He barely recalls what an Xtran is, but he does recall there was a point where Elesa had trouble with hers… kept getting messages from… no, that’s as far as the memory goes.
The text says ‘:>’.
“Okay, that’s bizarre,” announces Elesa, holding down the power button until her Xtran screen goes black. “What’s that website?”
As if on cue, the website loads. It’s very professional looking, written in Sinnohan with a translation to Unovan available. With a translation to more languages than that, though Ingo doesn’t recognize most of them.
Elesa wrestles control of the mouse, clicking on one of the tabs. Two catlike Pokémon appear in boxes, text under them. One pink, the other purple. He doesn’t get to read much more than ‘Mew’ and ‘Mewtwo’ before she’s clicking on the next tab— two birdlike Pokémon, one gold, the other silver— and then another tab, and a ruby Pokémon next to a sapphire one, and then Palkia and Dialga, and then Reshiram and Zekrom. He doesn’t need to read the names for those last four.
“Uh,” says Elesa, “We should absolutely not have access to this website.”
“Yup. But we do.” Emm— steals the mouse back to click back to Palkia and Dialga, scrolling down to reveal the three lake spirits, then Arceus and a black box with a simple ??? written under it.
The site, whatever it is— has genuine info. Ingo, of course, is far from an expert on Arceus and all its incarnations, but— well, the closest thing to a government in Hisui was the Galaxy Team, and they had been more interested in research than cover up. Even just by spending time in the training grounds, he had heard more than enough about the incarnation of Arceus that had been captured by a member of the survey corps to know what little this site had was true enough.
“We’d have to get to Sinnoh pretty fast,” says Elesa, highlighting mentions of the Spear Pillar and Mount Coronet. The Highlands. He wonders how much they’ve changed. “It’d be an overnight flight, even if we left now.”
“I do not think any Pokémon could carry me,” says Ingo. Chandelure, who isn’t much help for looking up things about Arceus but who’s great for reassuring Elesa and Emm— that he hasn’t gone anywhere, jingles.
“Yeah, of course we’d book a seat for you too, Ingo. You can have the window seat if you want!” Elesa answers, clearly on a different train of thought.
Seat? That implies they’d be taking a form of transport similar to trains, and if flight was involved— “No thank you. I do not want to fall from that great a height.”
Chandelure pauses, and turns to look at him, very slowly. Ingo realizes that he has neglected to mention the fact he has fallen out of the back of a moving train since arriving here.
… Twice.
“What did he just say.”
Ingo looks up from Chandelure to realize both Emm— and Elesa are now looking in his direction.
“It only knocked me out for a day,” Ingo defends, uncertain as to why he feels so out on the spot when neither of them can even see him.
This does not seem to reassure Chandelure. If they shared a language, he imagines she’d be saying something along the lines of “Why did you not mention this earlier.”
“What is it? Is something wrong?” Elesa prompts further. Chandelure shakes her head, pauses, nods, points at Arceus, and then shakes her head again.
“Do not fight Arceus?” Emm— tries.
“Yes,” says Ingo. No, communicates Chandelure.
“Is it the plane that’s the problem?” Asks Elesa, running over their conversation in her head.
Chandelure nods, and then crosses her arms and looks a bit huffy.
“Ha!” Says Emm—, seemingly involuntarily, “She only did— does that when Ingo was trying to do something detrimental to his health. It has been a verrrry long time since I have seen it.”
“Ingo was— isn’t afraid of heights, is he?”
“Nope! Ingo isn’t afraid of verrry much.”
“Huh…” Elesa trails off, biting at her thumbnail. A habit he was certain she had spent much time trying to break. “Can you not ride the plane?”
Chandelure’s expression eases, and she nods at Elesa.
“Then we will have to fight Arceus later,” says Emm—, shutting down the PC. “Back to brainstorming!”
“Chandelure,” Ingo says, drawing her attention, “Is there any way you could convey my… amnesia to them?” And also that he’d prefer they don’t fight Arceus at all, though that feels like a bit of a moot point by now.
“Lure,” answers Chandelure, which is fair enough. It’s hard enough to communicate when they can only answer with ‘yes’, ‘no’, and ‘maybe’.
“Hm. Perhaps then it would be best to— to…?” he presses a hand to his chest, feeling his heart lurch oddly. What on earth?
“Lure?” Asks Chandelure, floating closer.
“I am alright, I just—“ and there is again, stronger. It feels almost as if somethings pulling on him, trying to—
He must look some sort of way, because Chandelure reaches out to him, chiming her concern. It does little to help when—
When he’s no longer in the living room of the little house in Anville town, instead staring into the void of eternity, the same sight he had seen five days ago now.
Arceus is behind him. He knows this is true without having to turn.
“This was not written in the terms of our agreement, human.”
“My communication with them?” He feels oddly glib, for a moment, “I do not expressly recall you forbidding it.”
“No. That was mine own fault, I cannot fault thou for making it so.”
He turns to look at Arceus then, the god watching him keenly.
“Thou have done very well.” Says Arceus.
“I still have two days left before my scheduled departure,” says Ingo.
“Yes.” Says Arceus, and then, “But there has been interference from mine own children. Palkia and Giratina both.”
“I did not ask them to interfere,” say Ingo.
“No,” Arceus agrees, “and it would be unjust to punish thou in thine stead.”
“Then why am I here?”
Arceus ignores him, “There have been stirrings of rebellion from Dialga as well. I wonder if it was not more trouble than it was worth to set this trial.”
“Would going back on your word now not be punishing me in their stead?”
“Thou art very skilled with thine tongue, human. Very well. Two days.”
Ingo finds himself back in the little house in Anville town, surrounded by noise.
“Where did he go? What happened?” Emm— is shouting, at a Chandelure who seems to be doing her best to communicate… something.
“I’m asking Skyla if she can get us there!” Elesa shouts back, from where she’s tapping on her Xtran, “Should I tell her why?”
“Lure!” Says Chandelure, before pointedly jabbing one of the pokeballs on Emm—‘s belt, releasing Eelektross who goes from ‘sleepy’ to ‘greatly alarmed’ at speed.
“What type is Arceus?” Emm— is now asking, despite the fact Chandelure has no way of knowing that. “Is it vulnerable to electricity?”
“Tross?” Asks Eelektross, pointing to himself with some concern.
“… er, Apologies for the unscheduled departure! Arceus wished to have a word.”
“LURE!” Chandelure shrieks, turning from Emm— to lunge at Ingo, passing clean through his chest to bump into the wall.
“Is he back?” Emm— asks, looking slightly manic. Elesa immediately drops her Xtran, searching for any sign of Ingo even as it buzzes on her wrist.
Chandelure floats back around, reaching out to his face with her arms.
“He’s there?” Emm— steps towards them, arms out, hovering uncertainly.
“I apologize for any distress my departure may have caused. How… long was my stop?”
Chandelure immediately looks a bit shifty— Ingo gathers that she had raised the alarm immediately, he likely hadn’t been gone for much longer than the span of their conversation.
“Chandelure. Please refrain from causing undue panic.”
Emm— lowers his arms, and Ingo immediately reaches back out to him, though his fingers simply pass through. Chandelure takes the cue to float over and pat Emm— on the cheek. Perhaps to escape further scolding for upsetting everyone so much.
“Tross?” Eelektross asks, pushing his head into his trainers leg.
“Lure,” Chandelure answers, making Eelektross nod.
“Ee-lek-lek-lek.”
“What happened?” Asks Emm—, patting Chandelure.
Chandelure leans into the pats, before drifting down to Eelektross. They have a brief conversation, Eelektross nods, and then— then they begin pantomiming.
Eelektross pats at his chest, as if confused. “Ross-trosstross,” he says, before feigning a dramatic swoon. Chandelure catches him with her spindly arms, and then begins sinking the both of them into the floor. They vanish, for a moment, and then Chandelure pulls them back up, chiming.
“He fell through the floor?” Emm— asks.
At the same time, “He… collapsed and vanished?” from Elesa. The Pokémon point to Elesa in unison.
“This is muchhh easier for communication,” Emm— says.
Chandelure and Eelektross turn to each other again, conferring, and then Eelektross grips his head and pretends to be dizzy.
“He hit his head?” Chandelure shrugs.
Eelektross shakes his head, and then points to Elesa, and then Emm—, tilting his head as if confused.
“He doesn’t… know… who we are…?”
“Is— does he have— amnesia?”
“So— he needs to remember something about ——— to return?”
“Bravo, Chandelure. Superb idea, bringing Eelektross out.”
Chandelure chimes happily, swinging in a lazy circle around Eelektross.
Emm— takes a seat on one of the couches, pushing a hand to his forehead.
“Ingo… we have much to discuss when this is over.”
Elesa sits next to him, slinging one of her arms across his shoulders. Ingo tugs the brim of his cap down, avoiding looking at the either of them.
“Yes… we do.”
It must be half an hour before Emm— collects himself. That’s fair, it’s a lot of information to take in in such a short span, especially when paired with such an emotional rollercoaster. Coupled with the minimal sleep he got last night— it’s a wonder he recovers in such a short period of time at all.
“What does he need to remember? Do you know?”
“Chandelure.”
Eelektross looks at her, nods, and adds “Eelektross.”
“Not something you can pantomime? Ugh, guess that doesn’t fix all our problems.”
“Tross.”
“How much does he— no, that’s not really something you can pantomime either…”
“I am ———,” Emm— says suddenly, “I am one of the subway bosses of Nimbasa city. I do the doubles line, and I used to do the multi line with you. You are Ingo, the other subway boss, and my twin brother. You did the singles line, and the multi line. We were rivals. I would like to battle you again.
If you cannot tell me what you need to remember, I will tell you everything I remember.”
.•.•.•.
At some point, Elesa goes out to get drinks and food. Emm— barely stops talking long enough to accept, chugging the drink— coffee, which Emm— preferred black and Ingo with cream and sugar— before continuing.
Some of it, Ingo recalls. Most of it, he does not. Emm— makes an effort to focus on bigger, more important memories— opening the battle subway, meeting Elesa, catching Chandelure and Eelektross as a Litwick and a Tynamo.
Ingo follows every word, feeling all the while on the cusp of revelation.
As the day wears on, Emm—‘s voice grows rougher, Elesa makes honey-lemon tea, and he’s beginning to draw on the more obscure minutia of their life.
Ingo tries, more than once, to touch his brother on the shoulder, to let him know he’s there, always, but without an emergency on the horizon, it seems as if an insurmountable task.
Elesa settles down with her own drink, curling into the armchair instead of onto the couch next to Emm, which Ingo is grateful for. Of the three of them, she falls asleep first, head dipping down. She would’ve spilt her drink if Chandelure didn’t lift it out of her relaxed hands with a gentle psychic, setting it gently on the kitchen counter.
The gentle clack of ceramic on counter is enough to lift Emm— from his reverie for a moment, and he blinks over at Elesa, and then out the window, as if he cannot believe the time. Quietly, he stands, and retrieves a blanket from one of the bedrooms, tucking it around Elesa’s shoulders, and gently taking her hearing aids off. He retrieves a second blanket, for himself, and sits again.
“I am ———. I thought of many things to say when we found you again, Ingo. Now you are here, and you do not remember me, and I cannot see you. I do not know what…” he takes a deep breath, and then continues telling Ingo about their childhood.
He talks himself to sleep.
Half an hour later, Ingo stands, and cracks his back. “I am going on a walk, Chandelure. Please watch over them, and do not panic.”
Chandelure makes a low grumbly noise, but nods.
It’s refreshing, stepping into the cool night air. For a moment, he thinks to retrieve his Celestica Flute and summon Lady Sneasler, before he thinks better of it.
In this time, she has been dead for a very, verrrry long time. As has the Pearl Clan, and the Diamond Clan, and the Galaxy Team. Zisu. Rei and Akari. Laventon. Irida, Adaman, Melli. The last member of their Pearl Clan, Lady Palkia had said, and it was true.
If he fails, does not manage to scrape together the last of Emm—‘s name, they’ll all live again.
Or, perhaps more aptly, he’ll join them in the dead.
Will he remember this? Emm—‘s face, so like his. The stories. Chandelure. All things he had forgotten.
If he stays, will he recall his time in Hisui? It feels a bit like a zero-sum game, no matter what happens or how well he does, he will always lose something in the end.
He does a loop of Anville, and then another when the first fails to clear his thoughts. No legendaries confront him, Chandelure stays faithfully at home, and Ingo welcomes the reprieve with open arms.
It’s been a particularly bumpy ride with Lady Sneasler, the past day and a half. Highs, lows.
Ingo realizes, with a lump in his throat, that the thing he desires most in that moment is to hug his twin. It’s… very lonely, like this. It would have been lonelier, if Chandelure had not figured out how to see him.
He tries to picture how things might have gone instead— he might think he still has a day more than he does. Emm— probably would not have a sore throat, come tomorrow. They would have continued their vacation today, instead of fretting over him endlessly, even if their vacation was just to lounge about at home.
It did make things for him a great deal easier, a repository of information from Emm— that he would have otherwise been left to gather on his own, and yet it made things for Emm— a great deal more difficult.
Well, there was hardly any changing it.
Feeling somewhat more settled after his third loop about Anville, he returns to the house. Emm— has slumped over sideways in the meantime, now splayed across the entirety of the couch like a Staryu. Chandelure hums a gentle greeting, careful to avoid waking either of them.
“Thank you, Chandelure. I believe I simply needed some time to clear my head.”
She lights up a bit, as she does every time he says her name, before dimming her lights back down to the gentle glow of a nightlight.
Elesa grumbles and turns over, snuggling further into her blanket. They both pause, watching as she drifts further back into sleep.
For a lack of much else to do, he decides to try and pick up the mug left on the counter by Chandelure earlier. Quiet, low stakes. He hadn’t felt particularly different— no feeling like he was channeling any sort of energy. One moment, he hadn’t been touching Emm—, and the next, he had.
No such luck here, it seems. Chandelure drifts over to watch him for a bit, before growing bored and drifting back away. The mug, stubbornly, remains on the counter.
Elesa’s Xtran buzzes again. It had been silent up until now, and he wonders at who might be trying to get in contact with her at this hour. It might be the mystery number that had given them the link to the site in the first place. The screen turns black before he can read anything, and it takes a bit of prodding from Chandelure before it turns back on— a single message from ‘Drayddigon’ reading ‘I’m on my way.’
Ah, that was right, wasnt it? Elesa had been texting someone when he, er, popped back in from his impromptu visit with Arceus.
Chandelure, of her own volition, continues to tap on the device, managing to— with some difficulty— pull up Elesa’s messaging history.
To a ‘Skylrmory’— ‘SKYLA’ ‘skyla can you get us to Mount Coronet’ ‘in sinnoh’ ‘Ingo’
From said ‘Skylrmory’— ‘Sorry I was mid-gym battle’ ‘why do you need to go to sinnoh? Is it something to do with Ingo’s case?’
‘Elesa, you’re worrying me.’
‘You’re in Anville Town with ———, right? I’m texting Drayden.’ ‘He says he was planning on making the trip out anyway. He’s just gotta clear some things up first with Opelucid.’
‘Let me know when you read these.’
So, then, word was sort-of out. Drayden was their uncle, Ingo knew now, though Emm— hadn’t gone particularly far into how well they had known him. Either it had been well enough, or he had involved himself more after Ingo’s disappearance.
If he was leaving now, as his message implied, then he must be rather worried. The time displayed on the screen was ‘5:37’, so either he had woken early, or stayed up incredibly late.
He realizes a moment later that Chandelure had kept tapping at the screen while he had been lost in his own head— just a moment too late to stop her from sending her own message. ‘No uhtjjt Aaa a’.
“Chandelure! That is not yours to toy with, I doubt Elesa would be pleased to know you’re messaging her friends without her consent.”
“Chhh,” Chandelure says, moodily, though she sets the Xtran down.
Ingo settles on sitting on the floor next to the couch, drumming his fingers on his knee. “Would you like me to tell you more of what it was like in Hisui? I’ve only really covered the broadest strokes thus far.”
Chandelure nods, floating down to rest on the floor next to him.
“I believe I’ve mentioned the Pearl Clan that I lived with before— my job was as Warden, for a Pokémon known as Lady Sneasler…”
An hour must pass before Emm— awakes, sitting up and squinting down at Chandelure on the floor. “Chandelure?” He asks, and it sounds as a croak, “Where is Ingo?”
She lifts a bit, to bump her head against his leg, and Emm— gets it a moment later because he takes both of his legs back out of Ingo’s torso.
Then he just… sits there.
“Chandelure, could you convince my brother to drink some water?”
Chandelure rises, floating over to the kitchen, retrieving a glass from a cupboard. She then gestures with it, emphatically, at Emm—, who watches her blankly before snapping back to himself.
“Yes. I should drink water. You are correct.”
He gets up to fill the glass himself, knowing well Chandelure’s aversion to water, when Elesa’s Xtran begins buzzing furiously.
“Mmm?” Elesa pokes her head out from under her blanket, squinting at Emm— before fumbling for the device and her aids. “G’morning,” she yawns, before focusing on the screen. “H’llo?”
“Elesa! There you are— girl, what’s happening? What’s with the texts?”
“Texts? Oh. Right, um…”
“Did you just wake up?”
“Uhmm… yeah, pretty much. It’s— hard to, uh, explain. Can I call you back later? We might need to fight— uhm, flight to… Sinnoh.”
“… Okay. Later. You’d better .”
A beep, and Elesa scrubs at her eyes and rolls her shoulders before looking at her other messages.
“Uh… well, I spooked Skyla pretty bad, I think, and now Drayden’s on his way here. That’s— fine, I think? With… all this? He’s pretty understanding.”
“I am ———. If he thinks we are lying I will kick him in the shin.”
“Right, right.” She yawns, poorly hiding it behind a hand, squinting at the screen. “Uh… it says here he left at 5:30, so he should be here in… an hour? If there’s no, like, subway disaster.”
“The subways are verrrry dependable,” says Emm, sitting on the bit of the couch closest to her and offering her her own glass of water.
“Mmm, yep,” she accepts it, and downs about half of it in one go, “most dependable guys I know run it.”
Ingo stands, noticing a third glass in the kitchen, poured but untouched.
It takes about twenty minutes for the two of them to really get up and get going, both showering and swapping into clean pairs of clothes. Ingo lingers in the kitchen as this happens, occasionally attempting to pick up the third glass, though it continually rebukes him.
It’s Elesa’s turn in the bathroom currently, and though the sounds of the shower stopped a while ago she’s still in there.
Emm— has produced a journal of some kind, which he is scribbling in furiously. Chandelure peeks over his shoulder, so he elaborates— “I am writing down the things most to least likely to help Ingo’s memory return. We will try them all today.”
There’s a sort of, crunch , from the bathroom, drawing everyone’s attention.
“… Elesa?” Emm— calls, “Are there any safety violations currently occurring?”
No response.
“Chandelure, could you— yes, thank you.”
Chandelure knocks on the bathroom door first, pokes her head through, and then pulls back out frantic. Limbs flailing, fire growing, chiming and groaning while gesturing frantically at the door.
Ingo and Emm— move as one to get to the bathroom, Ingo stepping through the door as Emm— opens it.
Elesa is standing in front of the mirror, dressed, but her expression blank. She doesn’t notice them come in.
That’s likely because the space where the mirror should be is now a swirling vortex lit by greens and reds and blues. It looks alarmingly like the rift above the Coronet Highlands.
Emm— must be thinking something similar, because he only steps into the bathroom far enough to hook Elesa under the shoulders, pulling her gently away from the mirror. She goes, though her gaze does not once waver, not until Chandelure pulls the bathroom door closed.
(He wonders for a moment, at how Emm— chose to remove Elesa, why he would choose so secure of a hold.)
(When he first arrived in Hisui, there were a set of red lines wrapped across his hand— from his wrist to his fingers. Like someone had been trying very hard to hold onto him.)
He does not let go of Elesa, and as soon as the door is closed, she turns and presses her face into his chest, beginning to tremble— “It was looking at me,” is all that she says.
Ingo goes to look into the rift again, only to be waylaid by Chandelure, crossing her arms and chiming higher.
“Ingo, do not, ” says Emm—, from the couch.
Ingo does.
He’s the one with the most familiarity with these rifts. He’s the one least likely to be attacked, should any rift-born Pokémon appear.
The rift is almost as he remembers it, from many long evenings spent observing it, ensuring it wasn’t growing to consume any more space— though the white-lightning pattern in the middle now bends inwards on itself, stretching back to reveal what looks like a different world, however distantly.
A great shadow glances past the rift, and Ingo suddenly understands what Elesa meant by ‘it was looking at me’. Because it was looking at him too.
The door slams open behind him, Emm— and Elesa both silhouetted by it. Elesa looks— looks, well, terrified, and Emm— is hardly any better. Chandelure hovers anxiously just over his shoulder, “Ingo,” he says, “ Get out of here. ”
Ingo takes a step back towards them. A thin shadowy tendril, as thick around as one of Lady Sneaslers arms, capped by a spike of red, wanders out of the mirror like a snake. A second. A third. Emm— takes another step into the bathroom.
One of the tendrils finds the shower curtain, wrapping around it and pulling, and Ingo decides it really is in everyone’s best interests to not be in this room as this happens.
He has to step through Emm— and Elesa to get out, and once he does Chandelure chimes, high and clear, and Emm— immediately steps back and slams the door shut again.
(On the other side, the tendrils continue to explore until they deem the room empty, and the rift draws itself shut.)
Then he whirls to face Chandelure, who immediately points to Ingo.
“Ingo! What were you thinking? That room was clearly a danger—“
“There’s no way you could have done anything about that—“
“You are not allowed to vanish early because you decided to investigate a strange portal on your own—“
“Even if something had happened to me, I wouldn’t want you either of you following me in there —“
This is an unfair tag team. Chandelure, the snitch, just nods along, staring rather pointedly at him.
“I wouldn’t have even been able to tell if you had been taken again,” says Emm—, and that’s the end of it.
“I… am so sorry,” Ingo says, and he reaches out as if to place a hand on his brothers cheek. Chandelure does this for him, and Emm— must understand what’s happening, because his expression crumples, and he places his hand over Chandelure’s.
“I—“ Elesa pauses, to take a shaky breath, “I’m gonna call Skyla back, I think.”
“Of course,” Ingo and Emm— say in sync.
She folds herself back onto the armchair, taking a moment to study herself in the reflective black surface of her inactive Xtran. She must deem her appearance acceptable, because she clicks it on and is dialling Skyla in short order.
Skyla, oddly, doesn’t answer. Elesa frowns as it goes to voicemail, hanging up. “… Huh. She must have a gym battle to handle… she’ll have to call me back, I guess.” She clicks the power button, turning her Xtran back off.
There is another, very quiet, crunch .
The rift spirals out of Elesa’s Xtran screen, flickering at the edges. Elesa’s face goes blank with terror, and she almost breaks the strap as she rips the Xtran off, flinging it across the room.
“It’s following me,” she hisses, staring as the white-lightning folds in on itself to reveal the shadow yet again.
“It will be very difficult for Skyla to call you back,” says Emm—. He moves as if to stand between Ingo and the rift, which is unacceptable, he stands next to his brother.
One of the tendrils re-emerges— just one, this time, the screen-rift too small for any others to squeeze through, and begins investigating the room.
It bumps into the couch hard enough to scrape it back against the floor, prompting Elesa to spring out of the arm chair and back away.
It follows the sound of her footsteps, and she freezes— Emm— moves as if to step between her and the threat, as does Ingo, the tendril draws back like a viper readying to strike— and then it doesn’t, hovering and staring at them. As if it could see them.
Then, slowly, it retracts back to the rift.
“ What the fuck ,” says Elesa, very quietly and with much strain.
The rift doesn’t vanish— if anything, it grows wider.
“We need to depart,” says Emm—, reasonably.
“Y-yeah,” Elesa says, and her hands go to her hips, “I have my team. You got yours and Ingos?”
Emm— checks, even though he’s already nodding. “Yup.”
The rift peels itself wider, revealing four of the tendrils pulling at its edges. The last two try and squeeze through as one, find the rift yet too small, and withdraw to reveal the red-eyed shadow.
Elesa freezes in place again— Ingo can hardly blame her, he’s not the focus of its intent and yet he feels almost the same, like some sort of otherworldly pressure is crushing him.
Chandelure is the first to move, chiming a frantic note, which stirs Emme- into action— he steps between Elesa and the eyes, prompting Ingo to do much the same, and prompting Elesa to inhale as if she had forgotten how to breathe. Then she hisses “What are you doing,” reaching forwards to take a hold of Emm—, and they resume their gradual progress towards the door.
Chandelure, similarly, haunts Ingo, arms passing through his shoulders as she tries to pull him away.
But—
The shadow turns, as if facing something just out of view, and a low cry fills the house, rumbling, contemplative. A higher echo. A hissing roar.
Then one of the tendrils breaks formation, the rift sinking into a triangular shape as it lashes forwards— he turns, the order to run on the tip of his tongue, trying to determine which the rift-creature would sooner attack, who to command Chandelure to help, so caught up in his worry for the others that he’s caught entirely off guard when the tendril wraps around his arm instead, and then the world blurs into rift, the last he hears his brothers scream.
“INGO!”
.•.•.•.
For a heartbeat, for a fraction of a second, for the time it takes for a hand of a clock to tick-tick-tick to the next little line denoting time, ——— sees Ingo in full.
Just a flicker. A whisper. A ghost.
His wide, shocked expression as the Pokémon in the rift pulled him away. Like a TV with bad connection.
He’s screaming. So is Elesa. Chandelure, too. It’s not even a decision.
They plunge into the rift after him.
.•.•.•.
‘One,’ is the very first thing Ingo thinks to himself after regaining his bearings, caught standing on what seems like a giant glass bubble. Which doesn’t make much sense, all considered. Why would he be thinking that?’
Then he thinks ‘Hello, Warden Ingo,’ and things start making a little more sense.
“Lady Palkia? What is the meaning of this?”
‘I said we’d see each other again. Maybe is now. Dialga is willing to help too.’
It’s… odd responding to his own thoughts out loud— “I beg your pardon, but, help with what?”
‘You’ll see. Your space must be shared.’
It’s that exact moment— rather good timing for the god of space— that Emm— and Elesa arrive, Chandelure plunging after them with a hint of white to her flames, a colour she only gains when truly scared.
Emm— looks about frantically, as do Elesa and Chandelure— none of them can see him, it seems— “Why can Chandelure not see me anymore?”
At the same time, louder, from Emm—, “Where is my brother!?”
‘That was Giratina. We all helped. Things must be as the first day now.’
“What do you mean, ‘now is not the time to see him’?”
Silence.
“Do not use maybe! That time WILL come!”
Silence.
“If you are not willing to help, then—“
“This is very awkward to watch happening,” Ingo observes. He looks down to the glass bubble, then scans their surroundings— it’s as if they’ve found themselves in the worst space-time distortion to ever have formed— some sort of distortion world, even.
“———, who are you talking to?” Elesa asks, one of her hands threaded with his. The other dances over her pokeballs, as if she cannot decide which of her Pokémon would be best suited for this, if any of her pokemon would be suited at all. Then she stiffens, face looking a bit as if she’s bitten into a lemon, one hand raised to her aids. Then, hesitantly, “Apology… accepted?”
‘We have each chosen one of you,’ Palkia says in way of explanation, ‘We are not happy with their either. Giratina feels guilt. Dialga is not happy with the timeline folding.’
“So you’re… helping us do what, exactly? What are we chosen for?”
In way of answer, Palkia takes form, bulky figure towering over Ingo. They lean down, face mere inches from Ingo’s own— vaguely, behind him, he is aware of Dialga and Giratina doing much the same for Emm— and Elesa, and much less vaguely he gets the same sense of that mischievous grin.
‘We are fighting Arceus.’
“What,” says Ingo. At the same time, both Emm— and Elesa go “YES!” and like that, he feels as though his fate is sealed.
“Now?” He asks, suddenly feeling woefully unprepared.
‘Soon,’ answers Palkia. They nod their head just behind him, eyes squinting with humour, ‘Space-sharers must grow acquainted with my siblings.’
“… Okay,” Ingo says, feeling himself pass through what must be seven stages of grief to land solidly on acceptance, “what of us?”
‘It is nice to speak with a Warden again,’ says Palkia, almost promptingly.
“Er, yes…” a pause, as a question occurs to him, “Why are you going to such effort to help me? Would you not be happier if I were to be sharing space with the rest of the Pearl Clan?”
‘Yes. No. I miss my wardens. My nobles. Having them share a space again would be wonderful. But. Of both the spaces you are to occupy, Warden Ingo, you are so much happier here.’
He had loved Hisui. But he couldn’t bear to leave his twin behind— he thinks even if all memory of this week were erased, if every scrap of Emm— were scrubbed from him, he would still miss Emm— more than anything.
‘Arceus has noticed we’re sharing space. Dialga thinks the time is now. Are you ready, Warden?’
The smile comes easily, even though they never did before. He doesn’t need to look over at Emm— to know when or what exactly to say.
“ALL ABOARD!”
.•.•.•.
For the third time in his life, Ingo steps onto the great astral disk. Arceus rises from where it had knelt, studying them with eyes red and green.
Emm— on the left. Elesa in the middle. Ingo on the right.
Arceus doesn’t ask what the meaning of this is. Instead it rears back, a tempo of war drums beginning underneath their feet, and the battle is on.
It is, perhaps, the most he’s ever been physically involved in a battle before. He’s glad Emm— had the foresight to return Chandelure to her pokeball, because he cannot spare the time to worry about her.
If there’s any doubt that Arceus is powerful, it should be erased here; it is one against six, and Arceus is winning.
Perhaps it would be too early in the fight for anyone else to tell. Perhaps even Elesa does not yet see the futility of their endeavour, how despite Dialga, Palkia, and Giratina descending as one, Arceus does not falter.
It is, perhaps, the most exhilarating battle he has ever fought.
He knows Palkia’s moves as he calls them, Palkia responding almost before he has time to finish. Dialga and Emm— are the same, as are Elesa and Giratina, as if they’ve worked with the Pokémon their whole lives.
And still , they are losing.
Arceus uses Protect and another move in the same breath, a pink plate spinning in the air before it even as Dialga’s Roar of Time splits around it.
Giratina lashes forwards at Elesa’s command, piercing the bubble that Protect provided with a Dragon Claw only for Arceus to retaliate, pink energy gathering in a halo before its head before innumerable beams of energy dive forwards, shattering Giratina’s defences and leaving the Pokémon unconscious. Elesa, face pale, shelters behind its body, and Ingo hopes that Arceus will have the honour not to attack a fallen opponent before every iota of his attention is directed towards telling Palkia to dodge, as Arceus turns its gaze to them next.
Dialga takes the moment to strike, ramming into Arceus’s side with an Iron Head that sends the god stumbling.
“Fairy type!” Emm— calls from across the field, and Palkia responds with Toxic.
Arceus has to take a moment to recover from that, Ingo is crossing the field before he realizes that he is, coming to a stop next to his brother.
“Full steam ahead,” they say as one.
Even without Elesa to provide support, they push back as hard as they can. Emm— calls out each type switch that Arceus tries— and Ingo recalls this about his brother, the fervour with which he would learn about strong opponents, how he must have gathered all this from that website alone.
Emm— knows this is a losing battle too.
They make Arceus work for its victory. And, for the stretch of the battle, none of it matters— their time apart, that Ingo cannot recall his name, that Emm— cannot see him, none of it matters because they’re standing next to each other again. They’re battling together again.
Palkia goes down next— Arceus returns to Fairy typing, judgement raining down on Palkia before Dialga can interfere, and it’s as simple as that— one on one, now.
They do well. Better than Ingo would have with Lady Palkia, in all likelyhood. He looks to Emm— once, notices how his hands tremble as they’re crammed into fists, how intently he studies every facet of the battle, and he knows that his brother is not fighting so hard for simple victory alone.
Arceus throws Dialga back with an Extrasensory, the Pokémon stumbling over Palkia’s fallen form, tipping on its side as it goes. Arceus begins switching forms again, the Roar of Time Dialga tries passing harmlessly through as Arceus blips in and out of reality. Another Extrasensory tosses Dialga again, like a child with a toy, and the dragon lands before them, still trying to stand. Ingo cannot see Arceus past it’s bulk, but he knows what’s coming, and he turns to his brother and tries, so hard, to catch his shoulder, anything, to no result.
Then the unprecedented happens.
Dialga flees.
Time opens in a yawning vortex, and Dialga falls away, tail between its legs, leaving Arceus alone staring at them— time feels as if molasses, when Ingo realizes that the judgement intended for Dialga is now headed for them instead.
“No,” he says. Emm— does not move. “No, no,” time is slower, he realizes, an aftereffect of Dialga’s departure, a torment when there is nothing that Ingo can do.
Emm— stares into the sun and does not move.
Ingo lunges in front of him, as if this will do anything. The judgement falls down on them as if hellfire. He hears Elesa scream— realizes that he is too.
“EMMET!”
.•.•.•.
In the morning light, Drayden takes a moment to steady himself outside the Anville house’s door. The neighbours are kind enough to pretend not to see him, and the blinds are drawn, so neither his nephew nor Elesa can see him either.
Skyla had been so worried when she called, that there had been little other option than to take his vacation days early and travel out to Anville.
He had worried. He always did. With the anniversary upon them— the week leading up to and the day of were always… rough. The worst of it was when Elesa would be drawn into whatever idea he had come up with next, and then Drayden would have to deal with two disappointed, mourning adults, rather than one.
And, well, after the call with Skyla, there was little doubt as to what kind of week this one would be. He should have come out earlier. Should have taken the month off in advance.
But he hadn’t, and now the Spartan Mayor himself is steeling himself to go into a lovely quiet countryside house.
The door is open, unlocked, like always. The living room is in disarray, like always. There are a handful of loose Joltik scattered about, like always.
As he had half expected, there are three bodies piled onto the couch. Chandelure is hovering over them, watching him come in with eyes wide and yellow, and he nods a greeting to her, which she returns.
Then he pauses.
It’s a disaster of blankets— like their Pokémon had laid them on, which they probably did— and they’re sleeping in the sort of pile you’d expect from Lillipup, but there’s absolutely three of them.
|
It turns out that there is a sweet spot between "obnoxiously drunk" and "dangerously blacking out drunk" at which a human is still marginally ambulatory and has a high enough blood alcohol content to allow her rainbow drinker girlfriend to get buzzed by feeding on her (presuming that a superhuman tolerance to booze is not one of the questionable ectobiologic boons granted to the Lalonde line, of course), as evidenced by the fact that Rose is currently sitting on the edge of her bed with seriously mussed hair and a positively adorable look of concentration on her face as she fumbles with the paper wrapper on a band-aid. Or maybe Kanaya's own slight inebriation has more to do with the fact that halfway through the experiment Rose had abandoned all pretense at good scientific practice and totally corrupted their results by repeatedly shoving her glass in Kanaya's general direction.
Kanaya perches next to her, narrow hands folded and clasped between her knees. "I could open that for you," she says, her enunciation as careful as ever. She feels a little dizzy and giddy and isn't entirely sure she likes the sensation.
Rose shakes her head, hesitates, and then hands over the little envelope with a sigh. Kanaya peels back the paper and carefully smooths the bandage - plastic, printed with badly scaled jpeg images of scalemates - over the little puncture wounds at Rose's throat.
Rose yawns, kind of flopping over into Kanaya's lap, her arms stretching up over her head in a way that does interesting things to her strangely supple human upper torso anatomy under the thin lilac shirt. She grins up into Kanaya's slightly luminescent and faintly green-tinted face. "Whoa. Hi."
"Hello, Rose," Kanaya replies, not sure if there's a proper response to that. It seems to please her girlfriend, though, because Rose smiles wider, her eyes going half-closed.
The smile lingers for a moment, and then that too-serious I'm-trying-to-think-around-the-alcohol expression is back as Rose reaches up to hook a hand around the back of Kanaya's neck. "I knowww we said we were finally gonna fool around tonight but is it ok if we don't?" she asks. "I don't hardly know where my own bitsh are righ' now."
Honestly, Kanaya has to try not to look a little relieved at this suggestion; she doesn't think she's exactly impaired but she's not best equipped to avoid making a total fool of herself at the moment either. She nods. "Of course."
"Y'wanna stay here t'night anyway?" Rose asks, her fingers tracing idly over the nape of Kanaya's neck. "We can like... cuddle, and stuff."
"Sure."
As a rainbow drinker, Kanaya doesn't sleep much anymore. As a thoroughly drunk human, Rose snores.
When they wander into the common space of the asteroid the next morning - they've all adopted the human metaphors for times of day on their timeless little asteroid, partly because Earth's day-night cycle was more consistent than Alternia's and partly because they'd tried the other way and Dave couldn't or wouldn't figure it out - they're met with a piercing whistle.
"Would you cut that the fuck out?" Karkat demands from behind a book somewhere on the other side of the room.
"But Dave has been coaching me on human traditions for acknowledging when one's friends have successfully consummated a quadrant," Terezi objects, the picture of innocence. "I'm just trying to be culturally sensitive."
Dave does not look in the least sorry for having put her up to this. "For future reference, Tee-zee, a proper wolf-whistle is two tones. Like so." And he demonstrates
"It's a little premature, anyway," Rose informs them, wincing at the noise and making a beeline for the coffee.
"Rose!" Kanaya gasps, turning her best "when I am done with you there won't be enough fluids left for the clown to bottle" glare on Terezi. She's not sure whether it gets across; she's never sure just how nuanced of facial expressions Terezi can even notice.
"Oh come on, who's got supernatural intuition of people's intentions, around here?" Terezi objects.
"Terezi, I am all too aware of your capabilities as a fellow Seer," Rose grumbles, "but I might point out that you are, after all, Seer of Mind, not Seer of Booze."
"Rose!" Kanaya buries her face in her hands as Dave busts up laughing. Maybe she should have gotten the human girl to stay in bed and brought her the coffee. Maybe she ought to just take a page from Gamzee's book and never show her face in the public areas of the meteor again.
Rose makes a small dissatisfied sound. "It is too early and I am too hung over to deal with you two," she informs Dave and Terezi peevishly, and coaxes one of Kanaya's hands away from her face in order to take her arm and steer her back out into the hallway.
Honestly it wouldn't be so upsetting if it were an isolated incident, but they've been through this, or something very like it, twice already in the past few weeks - not counting that first time, because even in her annoyance Kanaya really can't blame Rose for falling down all those stairs. The stairs are starting to look like some kind of bizarre omen now, though, in that in the immortal words of Hella Jeff, it keeps happening.
And a few nights later, the two of them are alone in Kanaya's room, flopped haphazardly across the pile of discarded knitting and abandoned sewing projects. Rose goes to pull a bottle of something from her sylladex, and Kanaya sighs, grits her teeth, and asks.
"Rose, do you not want to..." Both the human and troll euphemisms suddenly seem really stupid, and she goes for direct. "Have sex with me?"
Rose looks up at her, an expression somewhere between concern and total stupefaction on her face. "What?"
"I mean, it's perfectly ok if you don't," Kanaya says quickly. "It's just you said you did but every time we get a chance you drink yourself silly and then beg off because you're too drunk, and after a while I kind of have to wonder..."
"Oh, no," Rose sighs. She looks at the bottle in her hand for a moment as if she's just noticed it, then recapchas it and reaches over to pull Kanaya to sit beside her. She leans her head against Kanaya's shoulder, fine pale hair tickling the side of the troll's face. "I'm sorry. I have no idea what I'm doing."
"It's ok," Kanaya says, although really it's confusing and a little frustrating. "I mean it, we don't have to..."
Rose laughs. "No. I mean I literally don't know what to do and I'm being silly and self-conscious about it," she says, sitting up and pulling her t-shirt up over her head, discarding the garment into the fashion pile.
Kanaya blinks at her.
"I mean," Rose continues, fumbling to unhook her own bra, "I can wax pseudointellectual about how virginity is a social construct all day, but that doesn't make me any less practically inexperienced, and suddenly my thousands upon thousands of words of erotic wizard fiction don't seem to count for nearly as much as I'd previously..."
She squeaks slightly as Kanaya leans over and kisses her, lightly, but full on the mouth.
"Ok," Rose says, when Kanaya pulls away, and reaches for the hem of the troll's shirt. "Let's do this."
Kanaya doesn't wear anything under her shirt, a fact which seems for a moment to vaguely bewilder Rose... who, Kanaya notices, seems to have finally freed herself from her own undergarment. Yes, that... definitely seems to be the case. Kanaya has noted on occasion that human breasts are softer than troll feminine pectoral growths; she hadn't expected the distinct impression that Rose's chest is watching her.
Rose follows Kanaya's gaze, and giggles a little nervously. "I think the traditional line is, 'my eyes are up here,'" she says, slipping her arms around Kanaya's waist.
"You have... dots," Kanaya observes. "On your breasts." She rests her hands against Rose's collar bones, partly because it feels comfortable in the current embrace and partly because that way her forearms are partially obscuring Rose's chest and making it easier not to stare.
Rose smiles lopsidedly "Nipples," she corrects. "I notice you don't."
"No," Kanaya agrees.
"Are they still..." Rose drags her hands lightly up Kanaya's sides, coming to rest with her palms cupped over the troll's chest, eliciting a squeak of surprise. Rose grins, looking pleased with herself. "Sensitive?"
"Your hands are warm," Kanaya informs her, and then leans in to kiss Rose again.
Rose responds, seeming glad of the sudden turn toward action rather than discussion; Kanaya's fangs graze over her lips without breaking skin, and Rose does her best to reciprocate with her delicately blunted human teeth. The human girl's hands aren't the only thing warm about her. They noticed that Rose runs hotter than Kanaya does, ages ago, but it's worlds easier to notice with extensive skin-to-skin contact.
Then Rose's arms are wrapped around Kanaya again, and they're tipping over into the pile of half-finished clothing. They roll over, and it'd be a whole lot easier for Kanaya to keep track of what else was going on except that now Rose's tongue has found its way into her mouth and that's kind of occupying most of her attention.
When they come up for breath, Kanaya is on her back with Rose straddling her hips, the short purple skirt gathered up around her waist. One of Kanaya's hands is on Rose's ass. One of Rose's hands is around one of Kanaya's horns.
"Ok, that... about exhausts my repertoire of actually knowing what the fuck I'm doing," Rose says, her voice one part laugh and two parts nervousness.
Kanaya tries to glare. It's a little hard with an attractive alien girl sitting on top of her, and, she suspects, completely ruined by the way that the combination of the kissing and the warm pressure on her general pelvic area is beginning to make things decidedly squirmy down there. There's no way Rose hasn't noticed that.
"Is that Lalonde-speak for 'I want to stop'?" she asks, a little peevishly despite herself.
Rose shakes her head, hair flopping into her eyes.
"Good. Now help me out of this skirt before I ruin it," Kanaya says, rocking her hips in a way that's meant to shift Rose but mostly manages to achieve a kind of friction that makes Kanaya go cross eyed for a second.
Rose obliges, scooting backward until she's perched more or less over Kanaya's knees and fumbling for a moment with the buttons on the red corduroy. Kanaya levers herself up on her elbows to watch; there's a perverse and not so small part of her mind that suggests that this entire multi-apocolyptic mess is worth it for the sight of Rose's bone-and-ivory coloration stained with a bright flush across her cheeks as her almond-shaped eyes narrow in concentration.
Then the clever pale fingers have unfastened the skirt enough to pull it down over her hips; Rose hooks her fingers through the band of Kanaya's charcoal-colored briefs and pulls off both layers of clothing at the same time.
Kanaya gasps slightly at the sudden freedom and coolness of the air, her bulge already more than half unsheathed, and Rose hesitates. As soon as Kanaya realizes that the human has paused, she sits up a little more, brow starting to furrow with worry.
She doesn't know what exactly is going on with human anatomy; she's somewhat intentionally not sought out that information, as Rose has thus far been a little body shy and Kanaya emphatically has no interest in encouraging Dave long enough to decipher his "ironic" crudity. She has, however, gathered that they aren't as troll-like in the general pants department as their appearance might otherwise indicate. Has the sudden reveal been too off-putting to Rose?
But the hesitation lasts only a short moment, before Rose practically coos, "Ooooh, tentacles," and she's giving Kanaya an inquiring look even as she's reaching toward the lazily writhing jade tendrils. "Can I?"
"Please," Kanaya replies, and she can't help arching into the soft, warm hand that carefully palms at her bulge. She doesn't so much drop back onto the heap of soft fabric as melt, and she's simultaneously vaguely aware of the rattling sigh that escapes from her lips and almost painfully cognizant of every neuron firing in her body.
Rose makes a little pleased noise and repeats the motion, pausing, moving her hands so that the bigger tendrils can twine around her fingers. A long moment later, Kanaya has regained enough control of her senses to sit up properly, bracing herself with one hand while she reaches out to take hold of Rose's shoulder with the other and burying her face in the side of Rose's neck, nuzzling in behind the human girl's ear.
Rose laughs softly in response, and turns her head, kissing Kanaya on the nose and then seeking out her mouth. Her hand stills, as if she can't concentrate on both the kiss and the hand job at the same time, but Kanaya can't find it in herself to really complain. As they kiss, she moves her hand around to Rose's chest, her thumb flicking over the tip. Rose arches her back, pressing the soft flesh more firmly into Kanaya's hand.
They keep at this for a few minutes more - uncertain touches, always coming back to the kisses as if to familiar territory - until Rose, properly in Kanaya's lap again, looks down and frowns.
Kanaya follows her gaze and buries her face in her hands. Rose's stomach is marked with clear, haphazard lines of jade green, the result of Kanaya's bulge twitching and curling between them.
Rose's skirt, still bundled around her waist, is also marked with clear, haphazard lines of jade green.
"Oh my god, I am so sorry," Kanaya groans. "I'm not sure... that might wash out. I don't know."
"It's just a skirt," Rose hastens to reassure her. "I can alchemize another one. Actually I've alchemized like three like it already."
She stands up to shimmy out of the skirt and kick it aside; with Rose's feet bracketing Kanaya's thighs, it puts the strange little umbilical dimple in the middle of her stomach right at the troll's eye level. Kanaya hooks a finger through the side of the purple underpants that are all that remains of Rose's clothing, and looks up at her inquiringly.
Rose takes a deep breath, and nods, and Kanaya slides the undergarment - which seems almost unnecessarily delicate - down over Rose's hips.
She's not sure what she expected, but she's pretty sure fur wasn't it. She blinks at the patch of hair that extends from the base of her stomach to between her legs, as pale as that on Rose's head but coarser, and with more curl. Entirely without thinking about what she's doing, she pets it, gently and with the backs of two fingers.
Rose starts to laugh. It's not the nervous, breathy giggle of earlier, but a full-throated helpless laugh, until she ends up half-doubled over, her hands braced on Kanaya's shoulders for support. Kanaya blushes mint green and she's honestly trying to look put out at the sudden laughter, but she really can't keep from grinning. She hooks her arms around the backs of Rose's knees and neatly deposits the still laughing human back into her lap.
"Ok, Miss Fuzzy," she says once Rose catches her breath, "what do I do?"
Rose wiggles a little, so that she can spread her legs a little more comfortably, revealing parallel folds of pink skin, coated in something clear and slick. "Just be careful, I guess? Everything inside the, well, the 'fuzzy' part is pretty sensitive."
Kanaya nods, and leans her head against Rose's shoulder to look down between their torsos as she reaches for the newly revealed portion of Rose's anatomy. She notes the slight tensing of muscles as her fingers slide between the pink lips, and though she notes an opening there she doesn't test it yet; when Kanaya brushes against the nub of flesh where the folds meet, she's rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and a pair of soft hands clutching her shoulders.
Turning her head a little to try and see Rose's face, she rubs that spot again, more firmly this time; Rose rocks forward a little bit against her hand, her eyes bright and a little vague. "I believe you've found the clit - clitoris," Rose informs her, in a tone that would have been dry if her voice didn't keep catching. "I understand it's supposed to be - ah! - supposed to be somewhat elusive. Ten - ten points to Slytherin."
Kanaya's not sure she gets the reference, but it sounds approving, so she chuckles, and rubs the pad of her thumb against the slippery little bit of flesh again, and again, until Rose is making breathy little nonverbal noises in her ear. One of Rose's arms is thrown around Kanaya's shoulders, the other hand wanders down to tangle in Kanaya's bulge again, and then, quests lower to gently prod at the edges of her nook, at which point Kanaya loses her concentration and skips a few beats in her own attentions to Rose's clitoris.
Well. Turnabout's fair play, right? Kanaya feels out that opening she'd located earlier, carefully slipping a fingertip inside. The wet cavity clenches around the intrusion, and Kanaya hurriedly pulls her hand away.
Rose giggles. "No, it's ok," she mumbles against the side of Kanaya's head. "It's made for things quite a bit bigger than that. Just... be careful of your nails?"
So it is a nook, or some equivalent thereof. Kanaya nods, carefully feeling out the opening again. Maybe Rose is making an effort to relax or something, because this time when she slides a finger inside there's no real resistance, and still isn't when her other knuckles are brushing against the outside of Rose's body. Kanaya gently crooks the finger, and Rose gives a shuddering sigh.
"Oh god, do that again," she pleads, and Kanaya obliges - and then pulls her hand away. In fact, she pulls back entirely, far enough to properly look Rose in the face.
The human girl blinks at her, looking a little put out. "Is something wrong?"
Kanaya swallows; directness has served her well thus far. "Would it be ok if I put my bulge in there?"
"The... tentacles?" Rose asks, her brow furrowing in what looks like uncertainty, and Kanaya nods, chewing her lip. Rose spares a glance downward again, as if reminding herself of what, exactly, the troll is equipped with. "I.. yeah, I think so. Yes. Please."
Kanaya smiles in response, and scoots forward, leaving the increasingly scattered fashion pile behind. Rose tries to open her legs further, and settles for wrapping them around Kanaya's waist.
For all that Kanaya's not sure how this is supposed to work, her body seems to have a pretty good idea; while they're still trying to figure out the position, the tip of her dominant tentacle is already feeling out the territory.
Then Kanaya rocks her hips forward, curling and sliding bit by bit into Rose, who is clutching at her with all four limbs and mumbling something that might be words if Kanaya was adequately able to pay attention to sensory information provided by the vast majority of her body that is not her bulge.
Kanaya pauses to catch her breath, and somewhat before she's regained her composure, Rose hisses, "I swear to god, Kanaya Maryam, if you stop now I am going to -"
Kanaya gives her bulge a slow, leisurely twist, individual tentacles coiling and sliding against each other and against Rose's inner surfaces, and Rose finishes the sentiment with a drawn out, "Ooooh."
Grinning, Kanaya repeats the motion, working up a rhythm; Rose's moans turn to gasps and then quiet almost to whimpers, but every time Kanaya makes to slow, the human responds by rocking her hips more roughly against the troll's. Kanaya is distantly aware that she's glowing brighter than ever, Rose's form throwing sharp shadows against the wall.
Then Rose clenches around her again, her breath coming in soundless pants, and Kanaya is just thinking oh shit, I don't have a pail when she moves her hand and finds a key that she is certain was not there a moment ago. It takes entirely too long a moment of fumbling one-handed with her sylladex, but she manages to unlock the appropriate card and withdraw the appropriate container. Rose is still shuddering and apparently incoherent, wrapped around Kanaya in more ways than one, as Kanaya levers herself up onto her knees, lifting her matesprit with her - they can endlessly analyze their choice of words later, matesprit is most definitely the appropriate term right now.
She barely gets the pail in place before her nook convulses, releasing a stream of deep jade liquid - not that she's entirely cognizant of it, with her face pressed into the juncture where Rose's neck and shoulder meet and fireworks filling her vision. Finally, with a mixture of disappointment and relief, she feels her bulge receding. Rose's grip on her shoulders and hips has already loosened, and the human girl drops to her knees on the floor as well.
They sit there, leaning against each other, for a long moment, and then Rose starts to giggle, and Kanaya can't help joining, though it's doing nothing to help her catch her breath.
|
The past few weeks had been difficult. Between all the dance practices and lack of sleep, Hyunjin was starting to feel tense and in need of a distraction. He needed something, anything, to distract him from the upcoming comeback and the dull ache that started to form in his body. He had felt stressed before, sure, but this was something new.
Hyunjin knew it was bad, but that didn’t stop him. It was bad to think about kissing and touching another member, especially when the member was someone who he once hated but managed to get impossibly close with. But the more Hyunjin thought about it, the more he wanted to do it. He was tired of throwing hints at the boy, and at this point, it was frustrating him beyond belief. All the subtle little touches on Jisung’s thighs during V Lives, clinging to him after performances, and making sure Jisung was watching him in the mirror at the dance studio was starting to take a toll on him. Surely, Jisung wasn’t as oblivious as Hyunjin thought?
Except he would just smile and return the affection, mirroring Hyunjin by also putting a hand on his thigh or throwing an arm around his shoulder, but never making it seem as flirty as the dancer did. He wasn’t shy, he openly cuddled and touched everyone, but the last thing he wanted to do was confront Jisung and ask to make out. Hyunjin didn’t even want to imagine what kind of situation that would create.
They had tension before, while they were still trainees, and the last thing Hyunjin wanted was a repeat. Especially with all the stress it put on the group, and more importantly Chan. Chan certainly had more things to worry about than a lover's quarrel between two members that shouldn’t even be messing around in the first place.
But Hyunjin had a need to be fulfilled, and he was getting impatient. How many hints did he need to drop to Jisung before the rapper would confront him, much like he did before they debuted? He was no stranger to it, so why wasn’t someone as open and confrontational as Jisung not questioning him about the flirting? Hell, he even manhandled Jisung off the floor during one of their V Lives and made him sit as close to Hyunjin as physically possible, and Jisung just went along with it. He thought that in the past year or so, he managed to improve his patience, but this was certainly testing it.
After a painfully long day at the studio, practicing the new choreography for hours until they were all on the verge of collapsing, he decided that it was now or never. Hyunjin’s body ached, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the strenuous practice or something else. A nap did nothing when he was too busy tossing and turning while fretting over how to confront Jisung, and neither did a cold shower to will away any inappropriate thoughts.
He eventually gave up trying to resolve the issue on his own, not bothering to knock as he stormed into Jisung’s room. He locked the door after making sure Jeongin wasn’t in there too, flopping onto Jisung’s bed while the boy was scrolling through his phone. Jisung simply raised an eyebrow at him, briefly looking him over out of the corner of his eye as the older boy propped himself up on an elbow in an attempt to get his attention. Jisung ignored him, going back to typing away on his phone and chewing on his lip in concentration. Hyunjin let out a frustrated sigh, grabbing at his wrist to get his attention again.
“Jisung.”
“What?”
“We need to talk.” Hyunjin insisted, and Jisung hummed in reply. He didn’t bother looking away from his phone and Hyunjin could feel himself slowly growing more and more frustrated, rolling his eyes when he kept typing.
It didn’t take long for Hyunjin to snap and reach over to pry the phone out of the boy’s fingers, leaning over him to set it blindly on the corner of the nightstand. It ended up slipping and falling to the floor, but Hyunjin could honestly care less. Jisung, however, looked down at it and opened his mouth to scold Hyunjin, but quickly clenched his jaw shut when the dancer propped himself over Jisung’s body, hands on either side of his head.
Needless to say, the annoyed and slightly confused expression on Jisung’s face made Hyunjin want to smirk. It really took ripping his phone out of his hands and basically pinning him to his own bed to get him to pay attention. Hyunjin’s eyes settled on Jisung’s chewed up lips, and he ran his tongue over his own lips before looking up at his eyes again. He was giving the boy plenty of time to push him away, and he knew Jisung would if he was truly annoyed with Hyunjin.
But he didn’t, simply lying there staring up at the boy with slowly widening eyes, and Hyunjin knew that Jisung finally realized what he wanted. After another moment of waiting to make sure it was okay, Hyunjin finally leaned down, lightly brushing his lips against Jisung’s before fully connecting their lips in a soft kiss.
He wanted to be gentle at first to make sure that Jisung wanted it, but persistent enough that he knew Hyunjin wanted, no, needed it, too. He smiled against Jisung’s lips when he felt the boy inhale sharply at the contact, tilting his head to align their lips better and pressing more insistently. They only kissed for a few more seconds before Hyunjin pulled away just enough to look down at his face. Jisung’s eyes were squeezed shut and eyebrows knit together, but Hyunjin could see the faint blossoming of red start to stain his cheeks. He waited until Jisung slowly opened his eyes, and when he did a second later, the boy finally spoke up.
“Thought you said we needed to talk...?” Jisung whispered, breath fanning over Hyunjin’s lips. His eyes flicked from Hyunjin’s down to his mouth, lingering before looking back up.
“I really need to kiss you. Like, right now, please.” Hyunjin replied, and Jisung’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise. His eyes trailed over Jisung’s face in case there was even a bit of apprehension, noticing that Jisung looked a little nervous from his reply. “Is that okay?”
“Y-Yeah.” Jisung hesitated at first, nodding his head a little too eagerly and reaching a hand up to run through Hyunjin’s hair. His hand stopped at the nape of his neck, gripping lightly at the overgrown hair there and tugging Hyunjin back down to his lips.
This time, they met halfway and Hyunjin made a small, content noise in the back of his throat when Jisung tangled his fingers in the older boy’s long hair, massaging lightly at his scalp with the pads of his fingers. He was surprised how good of a kisser Jisung was, as he assumed that the boy had no kissing experience before now. But the way the younger boy expertly slotted their lips together, making sure their teeth didn’t clack painfully or their noses bump too hard, genuinely shocked him. If anything, he was a little disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to teach Jisung how to kiss or relish in the way he would get embarrassed by saying Hyunjin was his first.
He didn’t expect Jisung to go any further than just lips on lips, assuming a few minutes of simple, chaste kissing would be the only thing in store for him tonight. And he definitely didn’t expect Jisung to coax his mouth open with his tongue, running it against the seam of Hyunjin’s lips in an attempt to kiss him deeper. And of course, Hyunjin didn’t hesitate, allowing Jisung to deepen the kiss and lick into his mouth, letting out another noise at the feeling of his warm tongue against his own. It was so much better than what he imagined, and he had imagined a lot in the past few weeks.
Hyunjin thought of every possible scenario to get Jisung alone so he could ask to kiss him, and he started going crazy at every dance practice when he would try to work up the courage to get Jisung to stay behind with him. Or when everyone was lounging around or shopping on a day off, he hoped to find Jisung alone in his room while everyone was preoccupied and wouldn’t interrupt. But it was impossible in a house of 9 boys for there to be a perfect opportunity, and maybe today wasn’t exactly the best, but he couldn’t wait any longer.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when Jisung gently bit his bottom lip, pulling it lightly before pressing a soothing kiss to it afterward. His thoughts and the kissing were heated enough to distract him from how tired his arms were getting from being propped above Jisung, and he had to pull away to readjust himself and give his arms a break. He watched with a smirk as Jisung chased after his lips, looking up at him in confusion when Hyunjin sat up.
Jisung was about to speak up again when Hyunjin threw a leg over his lap, straddling his hips. He steadied himself with both hands placed on Jisung’s chest, careful not to crush the boy underneath him but balancing his weight enough so his sore arms wouldn’t give out. Hyunjin felt the hand once tangled in his hair fall limply on the bed next to Jisung, but it fidgeted as if he wanted to keep them on the dancer. He let his head tilt down, messy bangs falling into his eyes.
They made brief eye contact before Hyunjin’s eyes fell down to Jisung’s red, spit slicked lips, and he pulled his own bottom lip between his teeth at the sight. They hadn’t done much and he was already starting to look blissed out, eyes hazy and half-lidded. And Hyunjin knew he looked the exact same way, hair tousled and lips glistening. It made him want to do even more; He wanted to see Jisung’s eyes roll back in his head, wanted to see his face contort in pleasure, and he wanted to be the reason behind it all.
He leaned back down, pressing his lips against Jisung’s again. He felt Jisung’s hand grip tightly at his side, fingers wrinkling the fabric of his tank top, and he wanted to moan when their chests brushed together. Jisung’s tongue immediately found its way back into Hyunjin’s mouth, trailing over his tongue and his teeth. Even though Hyunjin was here just to kiss Jisung, he needed to touch him too, needed to see him squirm underneath him as he teased him through his clothes.
“Can I touch you?” He whispered against Jisung’s lips, eliciting a small noise from the younger boy. He propped himself up on Jisung’s chest again, running his tongue over his lips. He knew that Jisung’s spit was all over his mouth, and it was strange but exhilarating. It made his body heat up even more and his arms weak, and he looked down at Jisung who was trying to catch his breath.
“Please…”
He didn’t waste any time, sitting back in Jisung’s lap and running his hands down the boy’s chest. His fingertips traced absentmindedly over Jisung’s clothed stomach, his shirt thin enough to see and feel the contours of his muscles through the fabric. They trailed back up after another few seconds of teasing, ghosting over his nipples but pausing when he felt Jisung shift underneath him. He glanced up, ready to remove his hands from the boy but Jisung spoke up before he could.
“Hyunjin...” Jisung trailed off shakily, squirming when Hyunjin’s fingers fell to his sides, slowly applying pressure to his waist to gauge his reaction. But Jisung didn’t shove him away or give him a scared look, simply swallowing loud enough for Hyunjin to hear and letting his eyes drift shut. And then he bit his lip, tugging weakly at his tank top for him to continue.
This was exactly what Hyunjin imagined; He always suspected that Jisung would be incredibly flustered and fidgety under someone’s touch. He was cocky and loud, but Hyunjin knew that in this type of situation, he would be the complete opposite. He would try to hold back any embarrassing noises and let someone else take the lead, and Hyunjin was perfectly fine with that. He had to hold back a groan when his mind started to wander, thinking about how Jisung would keep quiet while Hyunjin touched him other places.
He’d save it for another time, either when he was alone or when Jisung was once again willing to lay underneath him, and focused his attention back to the rapper underneath him. Even though there was the faint sound of a movie playing in the living room and some members laughing amongst each other, he could still hear Jisung’s labored breath and him shifting occasionally against the bed.
He was too caught up in his thoughts again to notice the hand that was once holding his tank top was now loosely gripping at his hip, toying with the pocket of his basketball shorts. The other was still fisted in the bedsheet underneath him, occasionally clenching and unclenching depending on where Hyunjin touched him. He could tell that Jisung was trying his hardest not to buck his hips up against Hyunjin with every slow, teasing touch.
Hyunjin smiled to himself, cocking his head to the side and humming as he thumbed over one of Jisung’s nipples again. Jisung arched up into his touch, whining quietly at the feeling of Hyunjin’s fingers. Jisung’s grip tightened on his shorts, fingers digging into the soft flesh of his outer thigh, and his breath hitched when Hyunjin’s fingers skimmed downwards towards his stomach again.
“You’re so sensitive, Ji.”
They skimmed over the bottom of his shirt, toying with the hem of it before pushing his fingers underneath. Jisung opened his eyes, reaching the hand once fisted in the bed sheet to grab at Hyunjin’s wrist, stopping him. Hyunjin looked up at him, cocking his head to the side at his reaction.
“W-Wait…”
“Hm?” Hyunjin hummed, fingers stilling momentarily on the warm skin of his stomach until Jisung’s grip loosened on his wrist. He gently traced his fingernails over the boy’s toned muscles, and Jisung let out a shaky breath, letting his eyes flutter shut for a few seconds before opening them again. His bangs were starting to stick to his forehead, the heat from making out and the taller boy on top of him making him sweat.
“Can I, um...” Jisung trailed off, eyes flicking down to Hyunjin’s chest before he awkwardly looked away, removing his hand from Hyunjin’s wrist and gripping his thigh instead. He knew exactly what Jisung wanted, removing his hand from underneath the boy’s shirt and bringing it up to his own stomach instead. He pulled the hem of his tank top up just enough for a sliver of skin to peek out, and Jisung’s eyes immediately fell down to look at it. Jisung watched intently as he slowly pulled it up even more, exposing his toned stomach but stopping just before his nipples were exposed.
“Shit, Hyunjin...”
“Touch me, too.”
Jisung didn’t bother giving a reply, reaching a shaky hand up to trace over his stomach, sliding up to his chest and brushing over his ribs. Hyunjin let out a satisfied hum, licking his lips and letting his head fall back slightly. His hand felt too good, slightly calloused but still soft enough to make Hyunjin moan quietly when it skimmed up and over his nipples. He had always wanted Jisung’s hands on him, and the soft touches in public just weren’t good enough. They were teasing touches, on his thighs or arms while around others, but now that they were alone, Hyunjin needed more.
Hyunjin swiftly tugged his tank top over his head, tossing it on the floor and bringing a hand up to run through his hair, brushing his bangs off of his sweaty forehead. He leaned back on his other hand and spread his legs, letting Jisung look at him perched on his lap. Sure, they had seen each other shirtless before, but never in this intimate of a setting and especially not after making out and touching one another. And not when they were both incredibly turned on.
He watched Jisung’s eyes trail from his face to his broad shoulders, down his chest and stomach, before finally settling on the tent in his basketball shorts. He stared for a few seconds, chewing on his bottom lip before looking back up at Hyunjin. Any other time, the lingering looks might’ve embarrassed him, but it turned him on even more. He knew he looked good, slightly sweaty from how warm the room was getting, and he loved how Jisung looked at him.
He let the hand slicking back his bangs fall to his lap, hovering over his shorts. He looked down at Jisung expectantly, tracing his fingers over the tented fabric and clenching his jaw to stop himself from whining. Jisung’s fingers tensed against his skin, eyes flicking between Hyunjin’s hand and his face, waiting for the taller boy to say something.
“Are you going to lay there and watch or are you going to touch me?” Hyunjin huffed out, neediness lacing his voice. Jisung’s eyes widened, mouth falling open slightly at the tone of the older boy’s voice. His eyes quickly fell down to Hyunjin’s lap and he shakily reached up to rest a hand in between Hyunjin’s spread legs. Jisung ran his other hand up the taller boy’s thigh, pushing the leg of his shorts even further up his thigh, exposing more of the firm muscle there.
Hyunjin immediately let out a moan at his touch, steadying himself on Jisung’s chest again as he fell forward slightly. Even though the fabric of his shorts, he could feel how warm Jisung’s hand was, palm just barely grazing against him. It took a few seconds before Jisung gathered the confidence to tighten his grip, looking back up at Hyunjin to see his reaction. Hyunjin’s eyes were shut, mouth hanging open as he panted. His lips were wet with spit again, red and puffy from Hyunjin chewing and licking at them. Just Jisung’s hand on him wasn’t enough, so he wanted to test something.
He experimentally moved his hips against Jisung to try to get more friction, eliciting a small groan from the boy below him. The brunet removed the hand on Hyunjin’s thigh, clapping a hand over his mouth and letting his eyes slide shut. He could feel how hard Jisung was underneath him, trying to keep his hips still despite him wanting to rut against the boy on top of him. Hyunjin moved against him again after a painfully long few seconds, fisting his hands in Jisung’s already wrinkled shirt. Jisung arched his hips up to meet him this time, sliding his hand from Hyunjin’s crotch to hold his hip, pulling at him insistently to continue.
So he did, setting a steady pace and watching the way Jisung’s eyes repeatedly fluttered open or screwed shut depending on how soft or hard he rutted against him. It was fascinating seeing how he reacted and how he would let out occasional tiny noises behind his hand, but Hyunjin didn’t want them to be muffled. He reached up, pulling the boy’s hand away from his mouth and pinning it on the bed next to his head, threading their fingers together. Jisung opened his eyes, looking up at him with a half-lidded gaze.
“Wanna hear you…” Hyunjin whispered, voice cracking halfway through as Jisung canted his hips up against him. Jisung immediately let out a noise in the back of his throat, fingers digging into the flushed sweaty skin of Hyunjin’s waist. It had only been a few minutes but he could already feel himself getting close, movements getting sloppier. And Jisung’s were too, his moans getting higher pitched and more frequent.
He felt Jisung tug at his waist, roughly pulling him down against his chest and leaning his head up to kiss him. Jisung whined loudly into his mouth when Hyunjin rutted even harder against him, dragging his tongue against the boy’s lips. He felt the younger boy shake underneath him, pulling away from Hyunjin’s lips and letting his head fall back against his pillow, breathing heavily. Hyunjin followed, shoving his face into Jisung’s neck and pressing a sloppy kiss against his skin.
“F-fuck, I’m...”
“Come for me, Ji…” He breathed against his neck. And Jisung did, loudly moaning Hyunjin’s name into his ear. Hearing Jisung moan his name was enough to push Hyunjin over the edge, whimpering against his neck as he came in his shorts. He felt Jisung’s hand fall from his waist onto the bed after a few seconds, and Hyunjin shakily climbed off of Jisung, falling down on his back beside the boy and running a hand through his sweaty hair. It took them both a minute to catch their breaths, and Hyunjin could feel his heart still racing from what just happened, threatening to beat out of his chest.
He couldn’t believe he just got off, got Jisung off, after making out and touching him. He couldn’t believe that he was laying next to Jisung, who was also probably freaking out, with no shirt on and uncomfortably wet shorts. Hyunjin glanced at Jisung out of the corner of his eye, quickly looking away when he saw the boy staring up at the ceiling. They stayed silent even after they caught their breaths, and Hyunjin was about to try to escape when Jisung finally spoke up.
“Um, that was hot but... What the fuck?”
“I… I don’t know,” Hyunjin whispered, letting out a pained laugh and throwing an arm over his eyes. He felt Jisung shift on the bed next to him and a hand pull lightly at his wrist, the other resting on his bare chest. He peeked out from under his arm, looking up at Jisung.
His cheeks were a light pink now, lips still shining from their kissing, but he was smiling. His expression made Hyunjin a little less anxious, lips quirking up to mirror Jisung’s. The boy let out a laugh, and Hyunjin gently pushed him away, rolling his eyes. Jisung laughed again, louder this time, teasingly running his fingers over Hyunjin's stomach before speaking again.
“You'll let me be on top next time, right?”
|
When Zoro awoke, he felt an unpleasant pressure pounding from the inside of his skull, temples splitting with a massive headache. Eyes flickering open to discover he was hanging upside down. Blood draining into his brain and causing a severe migraine that was making it difficult for him to remember how he got here, and it took even longer to notice the man that was making his way over.
Shaking his head in an attempt to get a better grip on himself, he noted the greasy man approaching as the memory of his capture came flooding back with embarrassing clarity. Groaning in annoyance as the agent came to a stop in front of Zoro and began sneering down at him, “Roronoa.”
“Galdino.” Zoro muttered back politely, letting his bound hands fall to hang below his head as he watched the sleazy man with thinly veiled contempt. Despite having dropped his guard enough to get him jumped in an ambush, it was easy to see that the man didn't see Zoro as a threat at the moment; his first mistake.
“Hope you find the accommodations comfortable?” Galdino simpered.
“Ngh.” Zoro grunted noncommittally, eyes already zeroing in on the knife in the man's hands that was no doubt meant for him. The large bucket and tarp on the floor beneath him the real tip off that it wouldn't be long until that knife was going to be drawing across his neck. It was only a question of when.
“I mean it obviously doesn't matter since you're going to be bled like a farm animal in a moment, right?” Galdino continued congenially; talking about cutting Zoro open as casually as one would when talking about the weather. Walking a lazy circle around the green-haired man as he was obviously riffed with a pride at managing to get Zoro into such a position.
Zoro just rolled his eyes.
“You know I was thinking of doing it slowly...” Galdino mused, crouching down to be more on Zoro's level as he pointed the blade uncomfortably close to Zoro's jugular, “But I realized it would be way more fun seeing the panic in your eyes as you struggl--”
Arms swiping up in an aggressive jab, Zoro managed to knock the knife from the man's grasp and snatch it out of the air as he slammed his head forward into the still yammering man's nose. As Galdino fell to the floor in pain Zoro pulled himself up and slashing the knife across his bonds around his ankles with little regard for himself as the ropes gave way and he was falling to the floor.
Rolling out of the impact, he sprang to his feet, and expertly cutting the rope binding his wrists before launching himself at his captor without a moment of hesitation. Blade poised expertly in his hand as he caught the still disoriented operative from behind.
Hand clamping over his mouth to muffle the scream at the same time he embedded the man's own blade deep into his guts, twisting it for good measure to make sure the man wouldn't live through his wounds. Continuing to twist the blade deeper as the man struggled in Zoro's hold until he eventually went limp and Zoro released him where he fell to the ground with a wet smack.
The sound registering as odd to his ears before glancing down with a hazy shake of his head and finding himself standing in a pool of blood as he slowly realized that it was his own. Noting the cuts to both his ankles that he had cut deeper than he had intended when he had cut the ropes to free himself. Dark garnet staining his skin and oozing out from the cuts in dangerous amounts.
“Shit.” Zoro mumbled faintly, tumbling to the floor and into the pool of his own blood, only barely able to find the distress signal in his pocket and turning it on before succumbing to the blackness once more.
~X~
Alarm clock went off at the usual time as Zoro had slowly acclimated to the oddity of allowing a machine to wake him rather than his own senses. It had now been a couple weeks since he hadn't been awoken by his own incessant need to rise before the sun crested the small town mountains. Letting go of that small aspect of control had been a little disconcerting at first, but a session with Robin had quickly turned it into something rather significant; instead of feeling dejected, he was actually proud of his minute progress towards suburban normalcy.
Workout finished and running shoes on, he made his way down the usual route until he neared the end of the subdivision where Sanji stood waiting. Hands clasped above his head as he arched back with a languished stretch, one arm dropping as the motion turned into a wave of greeting as Zoro neared. Their daily runs another new aspect to his lifestyle that he normally would've found tedious, but instead gave him a sense of grateful melancholy. It reminded him of his younger days in the army when he would wake up and go running with the other cadets; back when everything was so damn simple.
It had been quite some time since he had been required to pay such close attention to his surroundings as he ran, let alone have to make a conscious effort. Running with a partner – with Sanji – kept him mentally aware enough the entire time that even if they weren't talking he was able to stay present with little effort. In fact, his need to pay meticulous attention to as many details as possible had decreased drastically in the past few weeks.
There hadn't been anymore episodes since his initial one a couple months ago and his therapist had been quite impressed with the progress he had made. A heavy compliment as the woman was not often keen to hand out such high praise so easily. All in all the past couple weeks of his life had taken a large turn for the better and Zoro found himself even beginning to enjoy his new life; which was an interesting turn of events.
As they reached the path that began circling the lake Sanji picked up the pace as they started to race around the water. The whole thing that had initially began as a stubborn competition had now turned into a daily ritual. Darting past the old couple always out for their walk as they remained neck and neck for a portion of the path until Sanji began inching ahead. By the time they had reached the end they were both sprinting at break neck speeds before Sanji darted past the marker first.
“Beat 'chya.” Sanji crowed victoriously, throwing his arms above his head even though he was still panting after their rigorous race. Dropping them to jerk his thumbs at himself while boasting, “Whose got to two thumbs and can out run a CIA agent; this guy.”
The gloating was remarkably dulled by the fact that a moment later the blond had his hands on his knees and was gasping for breath once more. Sweat coating his face and dripping down his nose, as most of his hair had come loose from its tie and was now sticking to his face in a wet mess.
“I don't need to be able to outrun you,” Zoro murmured through his own heaving breaths, keeping a steady gaze locked on Sanji. “Just catch you.”
That comment seemed to catch the blond off guard as his eyebrows jumped and his eyes widened dramatically, jaw going somewhat slack for a moment as he stared at Zoro. Tongue darting out to run across his lower lip imperceptibly before finally recovering and attempting to laugh the threat off.
“Alright. Alright.” Sanji placated Zoro with a teasing wave and a wink, a little more recovered this time as began to walk at a steady pace to properly cool down as Zoro followed, “But if I were an agent you wouldn't be able to outrun me.”
It was a testament to their relationship that Zoro was no longer silently thrown by the eccentric blond's behaviour and was able to smirk right back at him and murmur, “I don't run.”
“Not once?” Sanji prodded skeptically.
“Not once.” Zoro affirmed seriously, keeping his gaze straight ahead of himself as his breathing returned to normal as well. Idly forcing himself to not think about the hundreds of times he had foolishly stood his ground and the times that it had not exactly been a wise decision.
“Okay, but I still think I'd make a half decent agent.” Sanji shifted the topic back to lighter territory, back of his hand hitting Zoro's shoulder playfully as he implored, “No one could get away from me.”
“You would be useful.” Zoro granted with a small chuckle. Sanji rolling his eyes at the playful tone and elbowing the man in the arm as they continued to finish their cool down lap around the park. Nearing the end of the loop, they came to a stop where the paths diverged and they typically parted ways. “Day off?”
“Naw.” Sanji glanced down at his watch before back up, “Gotta head home and sleep; then get up for a fourteen hour shift.”
“Sounds rough.” Zoro noted politely.
“It's not so bad,” Sanji defended with an innocent shrug, waving a vague hand as he explained, “We keep a pot of coffee ready and when it's slow we just watch re-runs in the lounge.”
“Productive.”
“Hey.” Sanji warned teasingly, “I'll have you know we're ready to go at a moments notice in case someone decides to jump in front of a truck, or anything else ridiculous like that.”
That comment was rewarded with a wry smile from Zoro whom shook his head lightly and brought his arms up to cross over his chest. Watching the delightedly grinning blond as the smile softened, always enjoying their banter, but somehow liking the way Sanji's face lit up when teasing even more.
“What about you?” Sanji asked, pulling the tie free from his hair and beginning to fix the mass of sweaty hair. Hands raking it back until he was able to wrap it back up into a messy bun with bangs still falling and curling into his eyes, “Any plans?”
Holding up his casted arm, Zoro replied, “Getting it changed.”
“Good.” Sanji muttered, releasing the tie with a snap and lowering his hands while making a disgusted face, “Cuz you smell like rotting vegetables.”
“Oi.” Zoro muttered in warning, playful smirk belying the threatening tone.
“Wouldn't be surprised if you had some mould growing in there, Mossy.” Sanji continued, disregarding Zoro's tone – which had made greater men quake in their boots – turning to leave with a cheery smile as he waved, “See ya!”
Rolling his eyes at Sanji's teasing, he smiled fondly and waved farewell as he watched the blond turn and run off in the direction of his own apartment. Zoro watching him leave as he wondered if he was loosing his touch with his menacing tone, or if Sanji was just an oblivious idiot.
~X~
“I was told to ask for Dr. Chopper?” Zoro politely requested to the nurse stationed behind the reception desk. Chopper having insisted taking over for his previous doctor and Zoro hardly having any complaints in the matter. Grateful that he could get the cast changed and then hopefully in a couple more weeks taken off completely.
“Mr. Roronoa?” She inquired.
Zoro nodded.
“Ah, yes.” She nodded, “I'll page him now; he'll see you in a moment. If you go wait in room 3.”
Following the nurses orders, he ended up down a hallway with a dead end, before getting escorted by a nurse whom found him. Taking him by the shoulders and practically shoving him into the room with an order to wait before closing the door. Not sure how it was in any way his fault that the room wasn't where the receptionist said it was as he took a seat to wait. It wasn't long before the door came bursting open to announce Chopper's arrival.
“Zoro!” Chopper crowed excitedly upon seeing him, the young doctor scurrying in to happily greet Zoro with the enthusiasm of a young child. Face lighting up in innocent glee which made Zoro wonder how someone who barely knew him could possibly be so genuinely excited to see him.
“Hey Chopper.” Zoro greeted back with a small chuckle, unsure what he had done to deserve such kindness from these people that had only been strangers several weeks ago. More and more it seemed like a blessing that he had dropped that coffee on the street that afternoon and gotten the chance to meet Sanji. “How've you been?”
“Can't complain!” Chopper replied happily, already bustling about the room, “Ready to get that cast off?”
“Absolutely.”
It didn't take long for Chopper to expertly remove the cast from his arm – quickly cleaning it and adding an antiseptic – before Chopper was setting about putting the new one on. Soon he had a pristine white cast on in replacement of the old one, albeit a little snug since it was still new. In no time at all he was finished and ready to leave.
Offering his hand which Chopper took, as Zoro gave a firm shake and murmured, “Thank you, Chopper. You always do such an amazing job.”
Chopper began gushing furiously as Zoro just watched the younger man with a fond smile, before using the distraction to make his exit. Hand on the door knob as he was being called back with a nearly distraught tone.
“Wait! You have to keep your cast.” Chopper insisted earnestly as he scurried forward, shoving the bag containing the rank bit of plaster into Zoro's hands as he urged, “It's good luck.”
“I will.” Zoro chuckled, taking the bag from the doctor with a light chuckle. Still not entirely sure what the superstition was about, but admittedly fond of the signature covered plaster from his new friends, “Don't worry.”
“Take it easy on that arm.” Chopper called after him, “Only a few more weeks!”
Zoro gave a Chopper a polite wave and a consoling smile, silently promising the doctor he would try not to do anything stupid to it in the upcoming weeks. Making his way out of the hospital with a soft smile unable to leave his face thanks to Chopper's adorable worrying. Hopping into his truck, he revved the engine before wheeling out of the parking lot as it seemed like now was a better time than ever to take the vehicle by to Franky's and follow up on his promise to bring it by for a tune.
~X~
A couple days later Zoro found himself in the basement going through his monthly ritual of maintenance for his various rifles, and miscellaneous weapons before storing them once more. It seemed like a ridiculous task since he hadn't used any of them in years, but it was imperative to him that they remained in pristine condition, especially considering the sentimental value of some of them.
It wasn't something he necessarily needed to do, but they tended to collect a bit of dust over the months of misuse so it was good to keep him in prime condition mostly out of respect more than anything. It was also a mundane, repetitive task that was calming for him to zone out while doing, but was also quite helpful with keeping him grounded. The familiar motions, and unique sensations were therapeutic, the whole thing grounding him but also keeping him connected to his past.
Distantly he heard a knock at the front door, Kalifa answering it and pleasant conversation following that was muffled by the floorboards. It was probably the Home Owner's Association stopping by to bother them with a new issue, or maybe even one of her friends coming by to visit for a while. Knowing it didn't likely concern him, he continued uninterrupted and knew that if he was needed then she would call for him.
When the basement door opened, Zoro was initially surprised at what it could possibly be about, but upon hearing the distinct gait of the male paramedic coming down the stairs he calmed. Continuing with what the task at hand as he knew the blond had no problem making himself at home; the past couple months had proven that.
“Your lovely wife said you'd be down here 'polishing your guns'.” Sanji explained as he continued down the stairs tentatively as he cast a casual glance around, “I honestly couldn't tell if she was using an innuendo or not.”
“She doesn't joke.” Zoro noted absently, just finishing with installing the slide back on the handgun currently in his hand and eyeing the sights to make sure they were accurate. Giving it a final once over before setting it down on the bench next to the several other guns he was in process of cleaning.
“Oh, wow.” Sanji balked as he neared the massive work bench lining the wall of the room, eyes skittering across all of the weapons in nervous awe, “You have a lot of guns...”
“Used to have more.” Zoro muttered, pushing himself up from his desk and nabbing a discarded rag from nearby to clean some of the grease off his hands. Working it between his fingers and across his palm, getting most of it off before tossing it aside to be washed later.
“Yeaaah,” Sanji drawled sardonically, eyeing Zoro out of the corner of his eye as he muttered, “see most people barely have one.”
Zoro just shrugged. Sanji was well aware of what his previous occupation had been, and while he might not know the details, it was pretty obvious that he wouldn't have only a couple guns. Realizing he hadn't left Sanji with really anywhere to go, Zoro attempted to further the conversation by asking absently, “You have any?”
“Obviously not.” Sanji snorted.
“You've never shot a gun?” Zoro inquired curiously, the notion somewhat perplexing to him. While it was something he had actually been forced to cover with Robin in one of their first sessions, the notion was still so odd to him after existing in a world of nothing but gunfire and artillery.
“I'm more in the business of saving lives rather than taking them.” Sanji replied facetiously, before giving a much more companionable shrug, “So, that'd be a no.”
Zoro remained quiet for several long moments as his thoughts began racing with an idea that he hadn't thought about in nearly three years. A trepidation washing over him as he stared down at the heavy metal that had only moments ago been clasped in his hand as an old spark of excitement was rekindled and he was turning on the blond with an offer, “Do you want to?”
~X~
“So...” Sanji broached delicately, clearly trying to word his next question carefully as he continued watching Zoro set everything up. Having driven far out into the country to shoot at some targets set up along a gravel pit, “Shooting is a... hobby, of yours?”
“Used to be.” Zoro admitted simply as he finished lining up the magazines along the table in front of the two men. Double checking their spacing as he picked up the larger hand gun from the end of the table and did a quick assessment over the components.
Grateful that he had not broken his left arm as it would have been much more of a hassle to get back into the habit using his non-dominant hand. Once he was certain that the firearm was up to his standards, he cocked it once to get a feel for the stiffness before popping the trigger to reset the weapon. Setting down the gun he glanced at Sanji, jerking his head at the ear protection that he held in his hands to signal the man to put them on before turning back to the table.
Putting in the pair of earplugs felt weird – especially since he had long since given himself tinnitus several years ago – but for Sanji's sake he followed procedure. Placing the safety glasses on as he hoped that maybe the muffled noise would help keep him from having a relapse. Even though this was just casual, Zoro was currently trying everything to keep himself from hyperventilating at what he was about to do.
It had been nearly three years since he had shot a gun – and while it used to be the most exhilarating feeling in the world to him – it had been a long time since it had become a source of fear and tarnished memories. Casting a glance over to check on the blond, he found him grinning readily and giving a cheery thumbs up. Not at all aware at the dorky way his hair was standing up thanks to the larger earmuffs Zoro had given him.
Fighting back a chuckle, he snatched up the gun once more as the heady weight in his hand was suddenly far more palpable than it had been moments earlier. The rough pattern on the grip biting into his palm as it brought back bittersweet memories of when he barely went a day without firing a pistol. Addicted to the taste of gunpowder that now was more likely to cause him to have a panic attack.
Picking up the first magazine off the table with barely trembling fingers, he slid it in with practised ease before bring it over to his right arm currently confined by a sling. Cocking it, and then raising it towards the target at the far end of the empty field where it sat innocently against the large wall of dirt.
Choking back any last vestiges of nervousness he pulled the trigger with practised surety, a crack rung out sharply throughout the open field as the bullet sailed across the field to embed in the paper. Only instead of hitting with a sharp crack, it embedded with a heavy thud as suddenly the field twisted into a shadowed nightmare as a young man stood just in front of the target. Body rigid with shock as a pained look tore across his face as the bullet entered his chest.
A second later the memory was gone and Zoro was left standing back in the sunlit field as a choked gasp caught in his throat and the gun in his hand trembled furiously. He could sense tension from his right where Sanji stood and had no doubt noticed something was amiss, as Zoro huffed out a furious breath from his nose and readjusted his grip with intent. Using all of his willpower to redirect the memory like his therapist had taught him, as his thoughts turned to Sanji and how he didn't want to have a breakdown in front of him.
Without even a second of hesitation this time, he pulled the trigger eleven more times with deadly precision as he angled the gun down range and fired on the first target. When the magazine was empty he brought the gun up with a swift motion as his thumb flicked the release to let the empty magazine fall to his feet before slamming the gun down on the table over the next mag.
Inserting it into the gun in the one fluid motion he brought it to his hip, pressing the slide into his thigh and cocking the gun in one smooth motion before bringing it up to fire twelve more consecutive shots at the next target. The time between unloading the magazine, and inserting the new one taking less than a second as his military training was still fresh enough in his mind to keep his reaction time nearly inhuman.
Fire, empty, insert, cock, fire.
Third magazine emptied into the third target as Zoro had the last magazine sliding out of the gun with little more than a practised twitch of his thumb, before putting it down carefully on the table and finally turning to face the blond. The man in question was still frozen staring at the table with his jaw hanging a little too open to pass for simply impressed, he seemed to be going for downright floored.
Removing their protective gear, Sanji pulled off the earmuffs with a flick of his tousled hair before rounding on Zoro and balking, “What the hell?”
“What?” Zoro shrugged honestly, removing his own earplugs as he looked back up at the blond that was still staring at the gun on the table in awe. A pang of nervousness overcame him as he wondered if Sanji was referring to minor freak out he had had moments before; he had really been hoping Sanji would ignore it.
“What do you mean 'what?'?!” Sanji squawked indignantly, jerking back with an aggressive wave of his arm, “You can't just casually do something that cool and then pretend I'm over-reacting.”
A laugh started to shake Zoro's frame which eventually turned into a full on guffaw as he realized that despite his anxiety, his loss of control, and all his self doubt; Sanji was still somehow impressed. It was ridiculously endearing of the other man, but Zoro's laughter just seemed to annoy Sanji further as he seemed ready to argue for a moment, hand gesturing towards the gun and then down range at the targets hopelessly before seeming to give up.
Eventually Zoro's laughter died down and he went about double checking that the guns were all unloaded and the safeties were on before they made their way down the field to the three targets. A bit of a trek, but they were soon standing in front of the massive gravel dugout and were able to inspect the papers up close.
Sanji gushed sharply as the bullet marks came into sight, “Holy shit.”
Ignoring the blond, Zoro couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed over how sloppy he had gotten in the past three years. Not only were the marks all over the ten, but one or two of them were even outside in the ninth. These were rookie shots that would make the difference between a kill shot to the heart and a puncture to the shoulder. Back in his prime he would have gotten between the zero of the ten with every single shot. Now, it seemed he was reduced to nothing more than a casual recreational shooter.
“What's with that look?” Sanji prodded incredulously.
“Hm?” Zoro glanced over at the blond, once again noting the look of shock on the man's face and unable to fathom how Sanji could possibly be impressed by this. Instead of flattering, it just seemed degrading; Sanji seeing him at his worst and somehow thinking it was worthy of compliment?
“You look disappointed.”
Zoro shrugged, attempting to brush off Sanji's excitement. Not worthy of the blond's praise when he could barely get through a round without having a panic attack, “Used to be better.”
“Better?” Sanji balked, glancing at the targets incredulously before back at Zoro with an outrageous expression, “How? They're all on the ten!”
“This is a one inch grouping at fifty yards.” Zoro explained as he circled the tight group of bullet marks with his finger before dropping his arm and grumbled to himself, “Embarrassing...”
“Okay, listen here, grumpy.” Sanji snorted, walking forward until Zoro's attention fully turned to him before ordering sharply, “I don't know what fantasy land you live in where you need to be upset about this, but in the real world with us here normal folk; you're a damned good shot.”
Zoro smiled softly at Sanji's attempt at consoling him, the notion far more touching than the actual words. Sanji was right, of course, and they were the same things that his therapist stated over and over to him. It was a past life; he shouldn't be upset about it anymore. But despite how right everyone was, no one seemed to understand how painfully hard it was for him to let go a part of himself that had been there since the very beginning.
“How about this...” Sanji offered tentatively, his cautious words drawing Zoro out of his reverie as he glanced up at the man that was currently watching him, “I'll come out with you to practise so you can get your game back, and in return you can teach me how to shoot; sound fair?”
Zoro just stood for a long moment staring at the other man, not entirely understanding what the man was offering and why. Starting to wonder just how much emotion had been revealed on his face earlier to have Sanji offering to do such a favour for him.
“Yeah... alright.” Zoro conceded, an air of excitement beginning to rise in his chest as the thought only continued to fill him with more and more happiness. He'd been so scared of shooting alone for so long thanks to the memories, but maybe if he had Sanji there to at least distract him enough to keep relatively calm then he could do this. Robin had wanted him to get a hobby, maybe this was the right goal to get his motivation back on track...
“Awesome!” Sanji announced firmly, waving a hand at the targets, “Now, let's put up some new ones and let me give it a go!”
Conceding with a nod, they tore down the old targets and replaced them with a couple new ones for Sanji to test his luck with. Heading back down the range shortly after and returning to the table as Zoro snatched up the gun he had just used and began to explain how to use it.
“Hold out your right hand.” Zoro requested and when Sanji did as ordered, he carefully placed the empty gun into the blond's palm to allow him to get used to the weight of it. Eyebrows climbing as Sanji took a very amateur grip on the gun – keeping his finger off the trigger – while attempting to adjust it properly.
Coming around to Sanji's right side he attempted to show the blond how to properly hold it despite not having his own right hand to demonstrate with. Keeping himself a bit behind the man, he carefully reached out to fix the gun's placement so it sat nice and low in the blond's palm, “You want the to choke up as high as you can on the grip; you'll feel less recoil that way.”
“Makes sense.” Sanji agreed easily.
“Thumb and finger parallel to the gun.” Zoro instructed as he reached out to nab Sanji's left hand and began placing it on the grip around the other, “Then place the palm along the area of the grip still not covered by your other hand.”
“You don't want to be holding too tight, and you don't want to be too low and cradling the bottom.” Zoro explained as he picked up one of the magazines he had used and began refilling it. Keeping his gaze on Sanji as the blond stood by the table and raised the gun down range to get used to the feel, lowering it at Zoro's advice and turning on him with a grin.
“Thanks for the tips, but I already know how to stroke a cock.” Sanji commented dryly.
A bright flush climbed up Zoro's neck far quicker than he had expected at the inappropriate comment, hand slipping as several bullets bounced off the mag and onto the ground. Coughing thickly to recover, he retrieved them and finished loading the magazine, offering it to the blond while still keeping his gaze minutely averted.
Sanji clearly enjoyed throwing Zoro off, but refrained from making any more dick jokes as Zoro finished going over everything else. From the safety, to loading, and to finally firing. Once done they both donned their ear protection, and Zoro took a step back to give the blond room.
The blond took several moments to get ready before firing the first shot with a little hesitation, obviously surprised by the kick, but not overwhelmed. Continuing on to fire the other eleven shots with some of them causing bursts of dirt to spring up around the target as he missed a couple. With the first mag finished, Sanji unloaded it and placed it on the table before turning to Zoro with a wide smile.
“That wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be!” Sanji yelled at Zoro, speaking far too loudly as a result of the ear plugs. Zoro couldn't help but smile as Sanji loaded the second mag into the gun, cocked it, and then turned his attention to the targets once more.
The initial crack of gun fire causing the hairs on Zoro's arms to stand on end as tension kept his spine rigid, but it wasn't nearly as triggering as he had thought it'd be. Zoro wasn't quite sure what was keeping him so grounded at he moment, but it was a great improvement compared to the last few times he had attempted to be around firearms.
As Sanji finished up with the last target, they removed there safety equipment and Zoro checked over the gun quickly before they began making their way down range. Even though Sanji had hit the targets some of the time, he knew a large portion of them had also decorated the gravel around the posters. “We can move the targets closer?”
“And attempt to humiliate me further?” Sanji balked indignantly, “I think not.”
Upon reaching the three targets, it was clear that once Sanji had gotten used to the aim and the weight of the gun his aim had drastically improved. The last one looking actually incredibly good from someone whom had never shot a gun before as Zoro admitted, “It's not bad.”
“Really?” Sanji raised his eyebrows incredulously at Zoro before glancing back at his target where there was a decent size grouping decorating the far left corner. While it was no where near the bulls-eye, they were at least all in the same area, “Are you sure you're not blind?”
“First try; that distance.” Zoro noted, “It's definitely not bad.”
“Well shit.” Sanji gloated haughtily, waving an airy hand about as he began speaking to no one in particular as Zoro began pulling down the old targets, “You hear that ladies; the CIA says I'm 'not bad'.”
“Alright, Casanova.” Zoro snorted, finishing hanging up the new targets and beckoning the preening blond after him with a crooked finger, “Let's try something with a bit more kick.”
~X~
Summer night left the air humid as they drove back into town along the dark, deserted country road. A few rays of light still stretching desperately over the distant hilltops as they drove in a comfortable silence. Sanji had the window rolled down, eyes closed as he enjoyed the light breeze that helped break the stifling heat that had been present all day. A cigarette held lazily in his hand while Zoro kept his eyes pinned to the road as he handled the steering wheel of the truck casually in his unbroken arm while still a little torn up about the day's earlier events.
There was still a war of frustration waging in him that he didn't think would ever truly go away despite how long he lived; always haunted by the memory of what he had been, compared to what he was now. However, a newly awakened part of him had been thrilled at the aspect of shooting for simple enjoyment. For the first time in his life going out and using a gun without the pressure of needing it to be perfect for the sake of his own life and others.
Not to mention being able to share that with someone else.
Eyes flicking over to Sanji whom still had his eyes shut as he brought the smoke in for a smooth drag before pulling it away. Allowing it to hang from the window for a few moments before he exhaled a long stream of smoke that was caught up in the rustling breeze and taken out the window.
It had been odd to have Sanji be so reciprocating about his passion despite having never done it before, and it had been even more surprising to have Sanji offer to accompany him to do it more. Zoro hadn't thought he had put off such a disgruntled vibe earlier, but it was also apparent that Sanji was an incredibly perceptive person.
Though it also meant there was a likelihood that Sanji suspected something was up with him – as a medical professional how could he not – what with the scars and the way he acted around loud noises. It would be rude for him to not at least come out and tell the man, since he no doubt saw the way Zoro had reacted the first time he had pulled the trigger. However, apart from his therapist and his wife he had never really said the words out loud...
The first time Zoro opened his mouth nothing came which was embarrassing, but it came as a relief that Sanji still had his eyes closed. Closing his mouth, he tried to calm his raging heartbeat as he attempted to rationalize that this wasn't that big of a deal and that Sanji likely new anyway. Heart still pounding against his rib cage for reasons beyond his knowledge, he steeled himself and opened his mouth once more.
“I have PTSD.” Zoro admitted quietly, the word sounding odd and foreign on his tongue as it was the first time he had admitted to what was effecting him in years. Mostly he had just referred to everything as episodes, or incidents, but for some reason he found that honesty was the best course of action for Sanji.
A long silence stretched throughout the car as Zoro was beginning to fear he had made a huge mistake, too terrified to turn and see Sanji's uncomfortable expression that he vividly focused on the road ahead of him. Knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the wheel, leather creaking softly as he twisted his hands in agitation.
“I know.” Sanji finally conceded lightly, which caused Zoro to cast his first glance at the man in several minutes in shock as he found the blond sitting as casual as ever in the passengers seat. Cigarette still hanging out the window, but this time his eyes were on Zoro and just watching him softly.
Eyes flicking back to the road, Zoro wondered aloud albeit very rhetorically, “How?”
“I've known since we first met.” Sanji explained gently, “When you dropped the coffee...”
“Oh...” Zoro noted quietly, having expected that answer from the very beginning, but also feeling weird at finally hearing it from Sanji's mouth. His gut churning with the horrible thought that perhaps everything Sanji had done up until now had been some deranged form of pity.
“It's nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I'm not.” Zoro replied stiffly, his tone laced with annoyance that he immediately regretted. It was hard to stop himself from getting defensive over something so trivial, but Sanji had no idea the burden it had placed on him, the devastating end it had caused to his previous life. When the silence between them had once more grown to uncomfortable lengths he snapped, “You're not gonna ask me about it?”
“Do you want to tell me?” Sanji answered without missing a beat, the sincerity in his tone so genuine it was practically painful. Zoro's previous agitation and anger deflating from him all at once as he knew without even asking that none of what Sanji was doing was out of pity; it was just who he was. Kind. Caring. Albeit a little pushy...
“Not particularly.” Zoro admitted honestly.
“Then I won't.” A simple shrug and the blond was looking back out the window with the full intent of letting the subject go, a trait that he would never stop appreciating in Sanji. They continued the rest of the ride in a much more companionable silence and for some reason Zoro felt as though a large weight had just been removed from his shoulders.
~X~
Arriving home after the day, Zoro found himself trekking tiredly up the stairs to spend the evening in his small workshop. Back in the quaint room he stared at the empty space on the wall as he realized he would now need to make something to replace it. An idea hitting him as he glanced down at the bag he had discarded underneath the desk a few days prior.
Pulling out the old cast, he placed it up on the shelf where the old ship used to be, now replaced with the item of good luck bestowed upon him by his newfound friends. All of their signatures displayed proudly from the mantled; the battleship from Usopp's kids, the dragon from Luffy, all of their names, and the curly flourish of Sanji's name directly in the middle...
A spark of inspiration hit him as he made his decision and began packing up and moving all the pieces of the half finished ship. Taking a seat, he snatched up the discarded spectacles that he left on his work bench as he began pulling out all the pieces he'd need to begin constructing a new hull. The ship he had in mind already a clear image as he set about making the new ship.
An hour or two passed where he worked in complete silence, managing to get most of the hull constructed before Kalifa eventually returned home. The woman making her was into his workshop silently and watching him work, before glancing around his work space.
“Where'd your ship go?” Kalifa inquired with a hint of concern, motioning to the shelf with a jerk of her chin when Zoro turned to her. Head swivelling up to note the blank space where the ship he had given Sanji used to sit, now housing the cast he had placed there.
Glancing back at Kalifa with a shrug, he explained, “Gave it away.”
“Really?” She intoned softly, eyebrows climbing curiously as she had come to understand how much they had meant to Zoro since he had first begun making them. Obviously she was a little surprised that Zoro had suddenly had the urge to get rid of one of them; let alone his favourite.
“It caught Sanji's eye.” Zoro muttered offhandedly, waving an idle hand towards the shelf as he feigned an air of indifference – honestly still a little surprised at his own behaviour – while continuing, “Figured I had too many anyway.”
“Huh.” Kalifa made a quiet noise of understanding, still clearly a little taken aback at Zoro's suddenly sociable nature before a soft smile touched her face. All of her features warming as she reached out to touch his chin and guide his face upwards to face her as she murmured, “How kind of you.”
Zoro remained silent, watching her gaze glimmer with excitement before she was leaning forward and placed her lips over his in a needy kiss. It had been a while since she had come to him for this, but he found himself reacting swiftly as an inexplicable arousal had been awoken in him that he hadn't been able to smother. However, it wasn't until he had closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss that he realized how badly he was craving it.
Careful of his injured arm, he scooped the woman up and carried her down the hall and towards their room. Continuing the kiss as she reciprocated with an eagerness that he hadn't remembered her having in quite some time. Their clothes discarded in moments as they were falling back into the bed and Zoro began worshipping her body with a clouded arousal. Eyes falling shut as his hands roved over her lean body, mouth at her neck as he kissed and nipped at every bit of pale skin exposed to him.
Something was different tonight. Whether it had been the mentally exhausting day he had spent with Sanji, or perhaps even the exhilarating rush he had gotten from finally shooting a gun again; something had him charged and eager. Body feeling far more heated than it had in months as he continued to ravage his wife's body.
It wasn't long before he was sliding inside her and he was able to relieve some of the pent up tension that had been coiled in his gut for what felt like ages. Gasps and moans egging him on as he soon found himself edging but not quite able to finish just yet.
An urge struck him, and without warning he was pulling out – much to her surprise – before flipping her over and sliding back in. Despite the suddenness of the action, she didn't seem bothered by it and in fact was rather eager and she began riding back into him. Zoro's gaze pinned to the perfect, unmarked flesh of her rear, the slender hips rocking back onto him, and the mess of blond hair falling around her shoulders...
Reaching out his uninjured hand, he tangled it in her long, blond locks and took a commanding grip. Forcing her further into the mattress as her high pitched whines turned into muffled, guttural moans which fuelled him further as he found they were the tipping point. Holding off just long enough to reach around and stimulate her to completion as well before he was coming hard inside.
Once her shuddering had ceased and Zoro felt a little more in control of himself, he pulled out and rolled off of her to collapse in the bed. Dragging himself onto his back as Kalifa rolled over as well and they lay sprawled together for several moments just basking in the after glow and panting into the quiet room as they caught their breath. Kalifa moving first to roll towards Zoro with a playful smile, leaning on her elbow with her chin propped in her hand as she noted heatedly, “That was new.”
“Yeah...” Zoro muttered aloud, just as surprised as she was at his abnormal sexual behaviour. A thought occurring to him which he immediately shied away from as the mere idea of it was not only completely ridiculous, but not allowed. Instead, closing his eyes and pulling his wife closer into his side, burrowing his face in her silken locks and focusing on the familiar perfume as he waited for sleep to come.
TBC...
A/N: Unbetad. Maybe one day haha
|
Peggy got back to her room, ordered some tea and a newspaper and slipped out of her heels. She had vowed no work for the two days she would be in Washington, but old habits die hard and she had case files to glance over in her briefcase. A half hour call to Howard for an update and she was ready to wash up for dinner. She hadn’t expected to hear from Barnes, one way or the other, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t hoping just a little that he might show. She wasn’t sure why she suddenly cared. Maybe it was how tired he looked, how starved; for food, conversation, company. Two of those hungers she recognised quite well, the other she was thankful she was in a position to never have had to experience it. But she did care now, and once she found herself on a certain path there was little that could be done to deter it. If she took a little more time to pin her hair, or do her makeup, it was for no one but herself.
Her mother always did say that looking ones best was just good manners.
Even if she was dining alone.
She took her seat by the window and ignored the other coupled up diners, though there had been one or two men also dining alone. She bet none of them got stared down in judgement as she did, but it was par the course of her life at that point.
She ordered herself a drink and took a leisurely glance at the menu. Of course it was then that a ‘gentleman’ from the bar decided to make his presence known, much to her chagrin.
“Well hi there,” he said, standing by her seat. She looked up slowly, trying with every second to silently vibe how uninterested she was in whatever he thought this was.
“Hello?”
“I couldn’t help but notice you’re here by yourself, and well, so am I.”
“Actually –“
“Oh you got an accent on you, that’s sweet, you’re English then?” He was leering and it was annoying. He wasn’t even attempting to be subtle about it either.
“I am, but really –“
Her frustration was growing by the second, though the barfly seemingly didn’t notice.
“It’s funny,” he said while taking the seat across from her. “I have a few friends across the sea now. What part of the former motherland are you from then?”
“Well –“
“No, no, let me guess, proper Dame like yourself, you look real smart, educated like, and damn fine if I may say so myself.”
“You may
not
, Sir.” Peggy was seconds away from revealing the small knife she carried in her garter on her left leg.
“Aw come on, Doll. Don’t be like this. I just want to offer you a drink and some company that’s all.”
With that her own drink arrived, which she accepted gracefully.
“As you can see I’m just fine for drinks, and for company.”
“I don’t see anyone here with you –“
“Honey! I am so sorry I’m late. Traffic was absolute murder, a truck overturned on the … well it’s not important.” At that he came sweeping in, kissing her sweetly on the cheek before leaning back with a smile. He smelled like soap and toothpaste, a nice change for him.
“Uh, can I help you with something, Pal?”
Barfly looked between Peggy and Barnes before raising his brows.
“Uh, no I was just –“
“In my seat and in the way, from the looks of things? Seems to me the lady was making it real clear she had no desire for your company. You a gentleman that can’t take no for an answer?”
“N-No?”
“No. Didn’t think so.”
There was a second or two pause before Bucky spoke again, this time all light and pretense absent and she was reminded of the perfect shot marksman he was during the war.
“You’re still in my seat.”
With that, Barfly got up, mumbling apologies before making his way to the other side of the restaurant and seemingly disappearing.
Neither of them spoke while Bucky poured himself some water, but she just couldn’t take the silence and broke it.
“I had things under control, you know.”
“Oh, I know I bet you’re armed too ain’t ya?” he said with a quirk of his brow, forcing her to bite her lip.
“Oh my God you are! A pistol?”
“A knife,” she admitted, looking out from under her lashes, sipping her drink as if she’d just admitted nothing of the sort. His eyes went wide, and then he smiled.
“Amazing. Remind me never to piss you off, Carter.”
“You’re late,” she quipped with a cocked brow.
“Mmm, traffic really
was
terrible. I got out of the cab, walked the last two blocks. I’m starving, what’s good here?”
And that’s how the first time they sat and shared a meal together began. They found that conversation came unexpectedly easily, good food was welcomed, as well as more than a few bottles of wine. Before they knew it the restaurant staff was cleaning up. It had just struck midnight. Had they really talked for five hours? They had certainly drank for that long. Bucky was actually feeling buzzed if not outright drunk, and Peggy Carter - who had started swearing like a sailor a few hours before - was smashed. Giving out stink about Howard and his unrealistic expectations, his ‘bloody brilliant madness’ that she was sure was one day going to get them all killed. But that where she was now, working toward a massive goal was as invigorating and as necessary as she’d ever known a job to be. Howard was still a womanising basket case and she had never ending tales about him, all of which were funny no matter how she told them.
She was a hell of an amusing drunk. Bucky hadn’t laughed or smiled as much in what felt like decades. She was full of stories about her training days, all the shit she had to put up with, right up to Philips and his grumpy old man act but really he was a big old softie. And a few stories from her time with Steve.
That son of a bitch jumped on a goddamn grenade?!
“Oh but it was something! All the other boys, all of them at least a foot taller and a good few hundred pounds on Steve at the time, all of them ran like little girls ran from spiders. Their faces when he landed on it, attempting to get us all out of range.” She sighed, wistfully. “It was something I won’t soon forget, that’s for sure. I think even then he earned points with Philips, which was no easy task.”
“Yeah Steve had this way of just winning people over no matter where we went, it’s why it confused me so damn much with women you know? He could charm anyone. His Ma used to say he inherited his grandfather’s Irish charm. He used to counter it with how he inherited his bad lungs too, but he was difficult to say no to, even when you knew better.”
He had no idea where that had come from it wasn’t even the topic of conversation.
She nodded, finishing her glass of wine and fidgeting with the glass.
“I imagine for you it would have been difficult.”
That earned her a hard look.
“No – I just mean…” she sighed. “I just mean having known him for as long as you did. Truth be told I was always a little jealous of you. More than a little, really.”
Now that had surprised the hell out of him, which probably showed on his face.
“What the hell were you jealous of me for?”
She shrugged.
“Please, Barnes. I may have had feelings for him but I wasn’t blind to his feelings for you. Or yours for him come to that.” She whispered now, even though they were the last ones in the hotel restaurant, promising that these drinks were their last. “I wasn’t sure of course, you both weren’t stupid. But… well when I was sure, it was obvious looking back once you knew. Hindsight being what it is an all.”
“Jealous of me, goddamn.” He drained his whiskey,then looked at her. “If anyone was being eaten alive by jealousy it was me.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Come on…”
“Hand to God, Carter. You were what I always said I wanted for him, a smart, beautiful woman who could kick his ass – serum or none - you still could have. And I said I wanted that for him, but the second I saw the way he looked at you … Jesus … I ...”
“Not as fun in reality then.”
“Really not.”
She sighed then.
“Moot points now, I suppose.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
And it was. He never made the choice because he never got the chance. A fact that would never stop being beyond unfair in Bucky’s mind.
“Are we drunk? No! I have to drive I can’t be drunk,” she whispered harshly, seemingly to herself. It made him laugh.
“We’re in your hotel, you lush,” he said while standing and once again offering her his elbow. She looked at it and him questionably.
He got it. Once upon a time he would have tried anything with a beautiful woman with curves like Carter’s, but that was a lifetime ago as far as he was concerned.
“Walking you to your room then I’m going to get a cab, that okay?”
She accepted, internally cursing herself for relaxing so much and getting so liquored up. By the time they were in the elevator to her floor, she was coming back to herself quickly.
“Thank you for the company this evening, it was … Well, it was nice.”
He nodded before the doors opened and when he placed his hand on the small of her back as she stepped out she ignored the chill it sent through her. She also ignored him blatantly checking out her arse.
Not the first time she had caught him doing that.
Her memory floated back to another life, another red dress.
As they got to her door, things like reality set in and it was a tad awkward.
He laughed in an attempt to break the tension between them both. It was awkward, of course, but he knew that could be overcome with some charm, if he only had it in him anymore to fake it.
“I uh… well.”
“Right,” he smiled awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck as he spoke. “Well, Miss Carter, it’s been a trip. Get back to New York safely.” He leaned in then to kiss her on the cheek and she allowed it. He noted right away how warm her skin was, how lovely she smelled. She always smelled good, even during a war when it was damn hard to smell of anything other than gunpowder, sweat and fear, Margaret Carter always smelled of lavender and roses.
It had been a real long time since he’d been near anyone that smelled as good as she did. He ignored the shiver that ran down his spine as he stepped back. But before he could move too far her hand was on his jacket. She was shaking, and as much as he wanted to blame the drink, he knew he couldn’t. He looked at her hand instead of her eyes. He knew if he did whatever sense he had was out the window.
But then she spoke. She said his first name in what felt like forever – if ever – and whatever denial he had left crumbled.
His kiss wasn’t gentle, but then again nor was hers. This wasn’t about love or sweetness or anything other than two people needing to be touched, to be reminded that they weren’t alone and that drowning in their grief could be lessened just slightly for a time. He pushed her up against the door, right there in the hallway, his mouth never leaving hers. Wet and warm and so wanting, needing, with every gentlemanly thing he thought disappearing. Instead of stopping and wishing her goodnight, he pushed her harder against the dark wooden door, making her moan, loving how it sounded, and he didn’t stop himself from grinding into her there in the hall. It was dangerous, but then he was dangerous, for both of them. His hand slid up her leg, to her thigh and the sensation he felt when he touched the knife tucked into her garters went straight to his dick.
Maybe he wasn’t the only dangerous one after all.
“Christ…” he moaned as she broke away, her hand on a key – where that came from he would never know - but the key turned and suddenly they were on the other side of the door. This time she had him pushed up against it, smaller than him, even in her heels. Weaker too, but he knew only in physical strength was she weaker than anyone in the world. Ignoring it, he allowed himself to get lost in the taste of her mouth, the feel of her warm hands on his neck. He was not focusing on how the last person he kissed was Steve. Hell, he wasn’t focusing on the fact that the last person they’d both kissed was Steve.
Steve.
Fuck.
“Wait…Wait,” he said, letting her go and stepping back. He rubbed his face he took in what she looked like before him.
Wrecked.
Her hair messed up, lipstick past her mouth, dress askew, and she had never looked more beautiful.
“I…
this
…” he started but wasn’t sure where he was going.
“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have –“ She was blushing now, and not just from their kisses.
“No it wasn’t you… it’s not you.” You’re perfect, he wanted to say, but didn’t. Before it wouldn’t have mattered much who or what she was if she was a Dame that looked and smelled like she did. And if she had her hands on him like she just did, then it was a done deal. But things were different now. He was different and so goddamn scared of just how different. And she sure as hell wasn’t just some stranger.
“You … you don’t want me.”
She looked confused then, making an attempt to smooth her dress and her hair.
“What do you mean I don’t want –“
“You want
him
,” he said quietly. Almost too quietly, but she definitely heard him.
“That’s not –“
“Don’t lie, okay? Just…don’t.” He was willing his hard-on to fade, to please just stop wanting her, but it wasn’t working. He was riled up in more ways than one and of course like a right hook to a hot button, his blood was pumping and fucking everything up.
“Peggy come on! You don’t want me, okay? You want the good guy. The honest, sweetheart guy who’ll wed you before he beds you, not someone like me who’ll fuck you and never call you again. Because that’s what I do. That’s who I am, okay? You wanted Steve, the shining golden boy, the shield. I’m the weapon. I’m the one that puts the bullet through the heads that get past the shield. I’m the one that was fucking the man you wanted when you wanted him, right under your nose.”
She looked as if someone slapped her. He hated that he was the one doing this, but it was as if someone else was pulling his strings. What was coming out of his mouth couldn’t be stopped no matter how wrong he knew it was to say.
“Do you know, huh? Just how indecent he
really
was? Course you didn’t. He was the perfect gent with you, all blushes and coyness and then he’d go and push me into a dark hallway and kiss me and rut against me, whispering promises in my ear. Do you know how many times I had him? Hell, even I lost count. No one saw what I saw before you people changed him and it was a damn shame because that boy could fuck you like no one else.”
“Barnes!”
She hated that his voice was panicked, as if he was on the verge of an attack of some kind, as if he didn’t really fully understand what he was saying. But she knew that wasn’t the case. He knew, and he was doing it on purpose to push her.
“No! He was amazing, Carter, damn amazing. Then…” he ran his fingers through his hair, “when your guys got a hold of him and turned the little righteous guy filled with anger and pride and honesty and the need to do the right thing - everything in him got … multiplied. He became a hero, the one that I always saw. Even if you all painted him as this icon of good old fashioned heroic Americana, that didn’t stop us any chance we got right there in his quarters, right there in our tents. The Holy Joe taxpayers would lose their minds if they knew what the mouth of America’s greatest hope was capable of in the dark. He was far too decent to make a move on you … with me he never had any hesitation –“
He didn’t get to finish his rant when the sharp sting and the echoing sound of her hand slapping his face took over.
“Get out,” she hissed then, her voice low.
He grinned then. It wasn’t genuine, and she knew that. It was forced and deliberately filled with malice.
“Told you, you don’t want me.” She hated the look sadness in his eyes at this apparent inevitability.
“Get. Out.” She managed to be louder this time, the anger evident now, just like he wanted.
Barnes just grabbed his jacket off the floor, sweeping it under his arm with a nod.
She was so livid with him, but not for the reason he wanted her to be.
Idiot.
|
Magic has always been misinterpreted. Thought to be as evil as the person who wields it. Magic isn't evil though, merely misunderstood like so many things in the world. It's not magic that is evil, but rather people, including those who don't have the connection with magic. It is neither good nor bad, just neutral.
At twelve years old, Harry knew his way around the castle like it was written on the back of his hand. He had his tutor schedule memorized along with when his father and brother were busy. It leads to days like this, where he snuck out of the castle in just a bland cloak and walked toward a lake that always calmed his magic.
They were already dancing on the top of the lake, he noted the tiny blue lights that to the naked eye seemed to just be a blur of a blue ball. But to his trained magic eye, he saw the Sidhe dancing atop of the water, soft flower petals settled ontop as they celebrated their Elder Sidhe's Fortune Date. Which was just a fancy name for his birthday Harry found out.
Harry knew better than to interrupt them, so he sat calmly on the side of the lake, far enough away to not spook or annoy the Sidhe, and took out the blank scroll he had taken from his tutors and grabbed the ink and feather. His previous life as Harry Potter found him a disaster at drawing, probably having to do with his abuse from the Dursley's where they broke his hand so many times that the bones hadn't quite healed correctly after a while. In this life though, Harry found out from Geoffrey that he had his mother's gift of drawing.
It was something that always calmed both himself and his magic when it felt too much near the surface. He wasn't paying too much attention, with the celebration he was trying to carefully capture and his mind getting lost in drawing, he hadn't noticed the beast sneak up on him until it was too late.
A soft black head bumped itself into Harry's arm and he just caught his quill before it ruined his painting. He turned with a grin as the Nundu that lived in the forest nearby carefully sat beside Harry and pushed her head back into Harry's arm. "Hello, Beauty," Harry whispered to her and carefully set the scroll and quill down and stroked Beauty's head. While Nundu's were often found in East Africa, Harry thought Beauty had escaped from an Illegal Creature Trade and made her home right by the lake that seemed hidden to humans that don't possess strong magic.
The first time they found each other was when Harry had toppled upon the lake when he was nine and quickly stumbled backward at the sight of Beauty. His terror and utter small body must have gained him some type of love from the Nundu because Harry knew Beauty saw him as some sort of cub figure to her. He didn't fully understand why, perhaps it was their nickname Breath of Death, and how they really can wipe out a single village with just one breath that attracted them to each other. Harry just knew Beauty's friendship he kept as a closely guarded secret.
A soft rumble stole him from his thoughts as Beauty leaned further into his hands, making sure her sharp quills around her neck weren't inflated and poking him. After all, it wouldn't do well if he inhaled her deadly breath let alone be poisoned by her quills around her neck and her tail. "I missed you," Harry admitted to Beauty.
His father had constantly been in meetings the past few days, Harry knew it had to do the recent death of Sir Gorlois, one of the few friends of his father. Harry assumed it had something to do with the man's daughter, Morgana, who he's seen every now and again especially after her mother's death. He wondered what his father was going to do with her, he knew she was something special to him, exactly what he didn't know. But whatever it meant, it gave Harry more time to be alone at the lake with Beauty to keep him company when the Sidhe didn't want to talk to him.
Harry sat there for hours as time drifted by until his magic told him he needed to get ready to head to his next tutor session just before dinner. "I have to go," Harry told Beauty sadly. He wondered if his gift toward magical creatures extended beyond Beauty or if this was just a chance friendship.
After all, he was still learning what it meant to be the Master of Death.
His father's discussions later for two days until at Dinner he dropped the bombshell to his two young sons. "It has been decided, that Morgana, daughter from Sir Gorlois, will become a Ward of Camalot," he said stiffy that left room for no arguments.
Arthur instantly scrunched up his nose. "But don't girls have cooties? I heard Evander talk about them having cooties. Shouldn't she be, I don't know, contained or something," Arthur said stupidly and didn't notice his brother who smacked his forehead with his palm.
Harry wondered how he was related to Arthur sometimes as their father let out a large laugh, one of the rare few, that seemed to shake his whole body seemingly not expecting Arthur's comment. Harry sighed at Arthur's continued distraught expression as their father continued to laugh. Knowing their father was going to be useless, Harry turned to Arthur. "Girls don't have cooties. It's something Evander made up."
"Promise?" Arthur asked with narrowed eyes.
Rolling his own eyes and promising what he said was true, Arthur seemed much more content and went back to shoving food into his mouth. Harry just ignored their father's soft chuckles and could only be happy that Arthur seemed to always take his word against Evander than anyone else's, even Father's.
By the next morning, breakfast was spent as a family and another person joined them. Morgana didn't seem too girly all things considering, Harry thought, as he stared at the ten-year-old's challenging face as she scowled at him and Arthur. "You don't seem like a girl," Arthur said stupidly.
"What's that suppose to mean?" Morgana snapped as she glowered at Arthur. Harry just took the time to calmly eat his food and let his brother dig himself further with the girl two years younger than them.
Arthur shrugged. "Maybe you should braid your hair or something. I heard girls like that along with playing with dollies. Why do you even have a knife on your hip? Girls don't fight?" Arthur asked and flinched backward when Morgana tried to climb over the table, knife in hand, and trying to stab Arthur.
"See if I can't fight when I stab you with this knife!" she yelled at Arthur with a furious look in her eyes.
Harry looked upward and prayed that their relationship would improve or so help him he'd have to expose his magic to save Arthur from their new Ward-Sister who seemed hellbent on killing him for being stupid.
|
Okay, I may have come to a decision about my future marriage prospects but I had the disturbing realization I had no idea how I’d go about even making Marcone that kind of offer. This wasn’t helped by most of me wanting to gibber in the nearest corner at the idea of voluntarily marrying anyone. It was a feeling made even worse when I thought of a marriage which involved John Marcone in any way, shape or form.
Argh.
I mean I was pretty sure you asked a man to marry you the same way you’d ask a woman. I’m not that ignorant, thank you.
There was just a lot riding on it. Maggie’s safety was riding on it. No matter how uncomfortable it made me I couldn’t get it wrong.
My unease wasn’t helped by knowing my history on that front hadn’t exactly been stellar. The only time I’d ever had the guts to get a ring to ask someone… Susan had turned me down. Even over a decade later the memory still made me ache with could-have-beens and if-onlys.
Oh hell, did I have to get a ring for Marcone?
A chill went down my back making me shiver at the question. And not just because Marcone was a man since marrying another guy had never crossed my mind. It was strictly because Marcone was freaking Marcone. That was enough to scare me.
It would scare anyone who knew him, I swear, it wasn’t just me.
Anyway, I was probably getting ahead of myself.
If I asked him what he thought about marrying me for all I knew Marcone would laugh in my face (well, the corners of his lips would twitch up) or be so insulted he’d have me booted me out of the nearest window. Also I shouldn’t make the assumption he would even accept the offer of forming an alliance with the Winter Court since apparently Mab had tried and failed.
I mean, if Mab hadn’t convinced him my chances of succeeding were astronomically bad.
And then when you considered our history it didn’t improve my already long odds at all. I mean, I had pretty much swindled Castle Dresden (formerly known as Castle Marcone, if only in my head) away from him. Something I knew he was still annoyed about, so I doubted he’d be feeling inclined to do me any favors.
I needed a plan. I needed advice.
*-*-*-*
“Are you sure this is something you want to do?” Michael asked me, watching me with a worried expression. It made the lines around his mouth and the crow’s feet around his blue eyes more pronounced.
I couldn’t blame him for feeling concerned. It wasn’t everyday a friend tells you he was thinking about proposing to Chicago’s infamous kingpin of crime.
Okay, Marcone was only the suspected kingpin of crime. His lawyers were too good to have allowed anything to stick. His record was squeaky clean as far as the general public was concerned. Actually, these days it was better than usual with the rumors of his efforts in defending Chicago circulating among the population. Marcone’s public efforts in providing for Chicagoans in the aftermath of last summer had had his name repeated many times in newspapers with glowing words of praise. Even what he was doing now, which included making resources he had available for those still struggling and his work in the reconstruction of the city gave his image an even brighter polish.
I mean, he even had something of a fan in Butters which I will grumble about forever.
Hell, I’d overheard more than a couple conversations where people talked about how Marcone should run for mayor or governor. Honestly, I couldn’t blame them for thinking he was the best thing since sliced bread considering how Marcone had kept the city working in the weeks after the Battle of Chicago. He’d give people food. He’d brought them water. He’d kept people alive who would have died when aid from the government had failed to arrive in time.
He’d kept barbarism at bay by holding strong the line of civilization.
It even got to me at times and I knew the truth of what he was. He was still a criminal.
Oh, yeah, and also a coin-carrying member of the Order of the Blackened Denarius. Telling Michael about that had gone down like a lead balloon.
“Honestly? No. I don’t. In fact, I think I’d rather cut an arm off, but it’s the best idea I’ve got,” I admitted. Between the cooling gentle breeze, the warming sun and the cold beer I’d been seriously tempted to put my feet up and fall asleep. At least until I’d broached the topic of my crazy idea to my friend. Instead of enjoying a mid-day nap, I was cradling an empty beer bottle in my right hand as I deliberately appreciated the spring green of the Carpenters’ backyard lawn to give Michael time to think.
The main draw-back of living in a small castle with every square inch of the property taken over by its gray stone walls or the small parking lot around the back was the lack of any extra space for a lawn. It wasn’t something that had ever concerned my lone self when I’d lived in my basement apartment but it suddenly seemed a big deal not to have one for my kid and my dog to run around in. Absently, I frowned as I considered the problem. I really needed to do something about it. Sure, the castle was bigger than anyplace I’d ever lived in before, but it was enclosed by walls and it didn’t exactly have a lot of windows. The ones it did have were narrow and didn’t let in a lot of light. And while I could shell out a small fortune to put in bigger windows it kinda defeated the point of having strong, thick stone walls as defenses if I put up glass in their place. Even bullet-proof glass wasn’t that tough.
So during the winter we’d all gone somewhat stir-crazy stuck inside as the snow had piled up. Public parks were a little too public, making me a tempting target for opportunistic assassins. I wasn’t about to put my kid and innocent bystanders in the crosshairs so they were out. Being able to go up to the roof had helped with the cabin fever but only somewhat. The kid needed space to run. And while I knew I was always welcome at the Carpenters, it felt like I should be the one to provide something so basic for Maggie.
I was her dad. It was my responsibility.
“This is a serious matter, Harry.”
“I know, I know,” I muttered. Frankly, I’d rather be worrying about grass.
“Marriage should not be done lightly. You make promises. You make vows,” Michael continued soberly, drawing my attention back to the topic at hand.
I blinked at him, a little surprised that this was Michael’s main concern instead of – you know – who I was thinking about marrying. I rubbed at my face, feeling the scratch of stubble on my left palm as I considered his point.
I said, “Trust me, with my magic I’m well aware of the dangers.”
That was one aspect of the plan which weighed on my mind almost as much as ‘who’ I’d be marrying. Weddings were vows and ritual, once you stripped out the religious stuff. As a wizard, ritual vows were even more tricky than they would have been if I’d been a vanilla mortal. This was actually why on average there weren’t that many married wizards and the ones who did get married took it damned seriously and why those who outlived their spouses almost never married again (I’d heard of exactly two divorced wizards on the Council and they’d been married to each other).
“But if it weren’t Marcone, I’d be making promises to Lara. And while I don’t trust either of them with my life, I trust him with Maggie’s.”
We both looked over to the treehouse where Maggie’s indistinct voice drifted down toward us. Hank and Hope were both up there with her. They were playing a board game. Occasionally an electronic bzzt sounded off which triggered groans and laughter from the trio. It also explained why I wasn’t allowed anywhere near them.
Wizards are walking, talking techno-banes. It wasn’t exactly the best superpower most of the time since it left me out of the tech crazes that everyone else enjoyed. I mean the internet, what was up with that? Or phones that were computers and cameras. Pfft. Clearly some sort of fad. It couldn’t last. We’d be back to rotary phones and having to look everything up in leather-bound encyclopedias in no time.
Allow me my illusions, please.
As Mouse patiently waited for his charge to come down within paw reach, he kept me company by sitting beside me on the porch. He was keeping solemn yet tired eyes locked on Maggie’s location. Earlier he’d worn himself out running around the yard with the kids and he was now fighting sleep. I’d noticed these days that even at the Carpenter home, Mouse rarely relaxed until we were back home.
I wondered if the invisible angels around the property were making him feel like he needed to keep up. Or maybe he was also suffering from the events of last summer. It had been an act of Molly which had kept the Fomor servitors who’d gone after our families from succeeding in their mission to kill them.
The angels had been utterly useless on that front. Maybe Mouse thought he needed to make up for their slack and stay on duty.
A good dog. But one who needed a break.
“Hey relax, boy. I’m keeping an eye on her,” I told my dog. I scratched at the thick dark ruff at his neck. Mouse’s tail wagged away happily before slowing as his eyes drifted closed. When he snored he rumbled like he’d accidentally swallowed a motorcycle engine in his last meal.
I wouldn’t put it past the big lug.
“John Marcone has killed people,” Michael said somberly. “Are you ready to expose Maggie to that?”
“No,” I said flatly, giving Mouse a last scratch before pulling away. My hands ended up in fists. “But with Lara… I think she’s worse.”
“Her vampirism, is that what you mean?”
“Yeah, her body count alone is probably a lot higher than Marcone’s, which is saying something. And that’s just the number of people she has to have eaten in all the years of her life. She’s over two hundred years old. It’s got to easily be several hundred people by now. It’s what it would take to feed her and power her up,” I explained grimly. It wasn’t as if I needed more reasons as to why Marcone was a better choice for the simple fact of not being a white court vampire, but I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the worse case scenario of what would happen if he turned me down and I still ended up forced to get married to Lara. “How many others has she killed on her father’s orders? Or to solidify her throne?”
How many of the unknown number of corpses thrown down in the sunken caves of the Deeps like so much trash had been her kills?
At least Marcone didn’t eat the people he murdered. I was even fairly confident they mostly weren’t innocents either. Every rumor I’d ever heard about people who’d vanished on his orders had been fellow scumbag criminals or those who’d broken his rules. He was still a jerk who peddled misery for money, leaving broken lives in his wake. He was a monster. A remorseless killer. He scared me in ways no one else on the planet managed to do but….
Right now, what mattered to me more was that unlike Lara I could actually trust John Marcone with Maggie. Marcone would never turn her into target. Even if I angered him to the point that he’d try to kill me he would never drag Maggie into our fight. If anything I expected him to go out of his way to keep her out of it. And… something which really mattered to me, if anyone tried to hurt my kid in front of him Marcone would protect her. Hell, he would probably kill whoever made the attempt just for the insult of trying to break his rules about children in front of him. He was the only enemy I had whom I would trust with her life.
Mind you I wouldn’t be happy about it, and I’d only do it if I had no other options, but I could leave my daughter in his hands and return to find her in perfect health and fiercely protected (although I’d owe him so many favors I’d be paying them off for the next ten years). I absolutely had no doubts on that score.
Yeah, it was a weird thing to say about a man I considered an enemy and a ruthless monster, but it was true.
And that was without being married to him, even though I’d threatened him to his face multiple times and knowing he had probably made all kinds of plans to kill me. For crying out loud, he was the one who gave Lara the idea of hiding mines in the walls.
Bastard.
Sitting next to Michael it suddenly struck me that Marcone had also never threatened any of my friends.
And wasn’t like he wasn’t fully aware of Michael’s existence, or Sanya’s, or Butters’s, or the Alphas’.
In all the years I’d been a pain in Marcone’s side how often had he gone after any of my friends and allies? Zero times as far as I knew. He’d never so much as brought up their names to try to get me to do what he wanted (Oh, he did it once with… with… with Murphy… but it was more of a bribe, an offer for him to get her out of trouble with CPD higher-ups, than him threatening her). Instead Marcone had set about manipulating events to get me to do what he wanted, but he’d never tried to use my friends as leverage against me.
Huh. Maybe it was just another sign of the man’s intelligence or his impeccable survival instincts. Going after my friends, even alluding to the possibility, was a quick way to shorten your lifespan.
“And there’s no way you can get out of it?”
“I haven’t given up looking for an out but I also can’t just assume I’ll find an answer in time. I need to have a back-up plan. I can’t afford not to,” I said, grimacing as I admitted, “and he’s the best one.”
Assuming, of course, I could convince the man to join the alliance Mab wanted. Oh, and marry me at the same time.
It hadn’t stopped being a terrifying thought. The only reason I could withstand it at all was that the idea of marrying Lara was a lot worse. Alright, if it were just me, I’d risk it with Lara. I could survive a lot of bad. I’d dealt with pretty damn awful things before. I could withstand whatever she threw at me, hopefully long enough to get out of it with only minimal lasting damage. But I wasn’t the only one on the line anymore.
I wasn’t going to endanger Maggie. At least not more than she was already in danger simply by having the bad luck of having me for a dad.
“This is a pickle,” Michael said drinking more of the beer in his hand. He’d been far more frugal with his swallows than I had been with my beer since he’d only just started his second and I’d just drained down my third bottle.
I was going to have to cut myself off if I planned on driving back home this evening. I’d hate to have to take away my car keys. I was always such a smartass when I demanded I hand them over.
He continued, “I can tell that you are determined to do this. You know I trust your judgment. You wouldn’t choose a path which would bring harm to Maggie. I also can’t help but think that maybe there is purpose to you being so close to Marcone. You could convince him to give up the coin.”
“Ha. Unlikely.”
“You won’t know unless you try. You could be a mitigating force on the influence of Thorned Namshiel,” Michael said quietly.
“Or the other way around,” I pointed out.
Michael snorted. “If Lasciel, a fallen infamously known as the Seducer wasn’t able to convince you to take up the coin, I doubt Namshiel would succeed. It’s not his specialty. He’s always gone down in the Church records as being rather acerbic and impatient. It doesn’t concern me at all.”
I couldn’t help it. A warm glow burst into life in my chest at my friend’s confidence in me. I gave him a grateful look before adding, “And I’ve beaten him before.”
Ah, the memory of smashing Spiny-boy with soulfire made me smirk.
“Exactly, he’s not going to have forgotten that lesson,” Michael grinned back, before asking, “So what exactly do you need my help with?”
I dragged my hand over my face and groaned. “How in the world do I even ask someone to marry me and have them say yes?” I asked plaintively. I peeked through my fingers. “You’re the expert.”
Michael laughed, a low and rolling sound of amusement. “You make it sound as if I’ve asked a bunch of people. I’ve only ever asked one person: Charity.”
I groaned again before dropping my hand away. I slumped in my chair. “I was hoping you had some advice.”
“I was in love with Charity by the time I asked her to marry me so I didn’t doubt my choice. I knew it was right. She’d entered my life for a reason. She was the one.”
“I am not in love with Marcone,” I said dryly. Saying the word sent an unexpected jolt of white pain through me and my mouth tasted of ashes. I reached into the small red cooler filled with ice and drinks which lay at our feet next to a slumbering Mouse. I pulled out a Coke to wash away the taste of loss and ruin. The taste of my favorite carbonated soda helped.
Michael shook his head. “Then all I can recommend is honesty. Tell him the truth. It will be up to him to decide to accept it.”
“Be honest. Okay,” I muttered although frowning at the idea. But thinking it through I had to reluctantly nod in agreement. Nothing good would come out of lying to Marcone about what was driving me.
If he thought I was lying or setting him up for a fall then Marcone wouldn’t take me seriously. He’d say no before I had the chance to explain myself or convince him otherwise.
“Well then, Harry, I hope you get your man,” Michael said, his blue eyes twinkling at me.
I glowered at him.
*-*-*-*
I decided that if I was going to be serious about my plan (really embracing my loss of sanity), then I had to really think through my approach.
If I showed up unannounced and started blowing doors off hinges I’d get myself shot faster than I could say, “Where’s Johnny?” And if I was lucky enough not to get shot, or blown up with mines, there was no way in hell Marcone would agree to an alliance with Winter. He’d be too damned angry over the encroachment on his territory. While the thought of enraging Marcone filled me with unabashed glee, because pissing him off or taking him off guard was guaranteed to bring a smile to my face, I simply couldn’t be that rude to another Accorded member.
Not anymore. Not without getting myself punished by an angry Mab soon after.
Just in offering an alliance, I was representing the Winter Court in an official capacity and not only as its Winter Knight. I was an envoy of Mab’s will. If I insulted Marcone in her name… I shuddered.
So I took my own feelings out of it, including sticking my fear over freaking Marcone into a box and shoving it deep to keep my subconscious company. I ignored the fact I was coming in with what amounted to a marriage proposal and tried to think of my approach in a more objective light.
I had to be ready to convince Marcone of the benefits of working out a more solid alliance with Winter.
And while I could try to approach him in one of the constant Ministry summit-dash-parties which took place while the ongoing war with the Fomor required the various members to constantly coordinate together for their world spanning battle, those weren’t exactly private. Even if I found a quiet moment to take him aside, I suspected we’d have too many eyes on us. I wouldn’t trust that anything we said to each other wouldn’t be overheard, not with the abilities some Accorded members had. Hell, I expected all of them to try to eavesdrop.
If I failed… I didn’t think Mab would be pleased with me for making the Winter Court look bad in such a public place.
Anyway, the next summit was over a week away and I couldn’t afford to waste anymore time. I may end up needing it to persuade Marcone to change his mind.
Damn it, I think I needed to make an appointment.
*-*-*-*
A couple of days later, I was on my way to meet with Marcone when I found myself thinking worried circular thoughts such as: How in the world do you get a mob boss, freeholding lord and knight of hell to marry you, especially when they were the same damned – heh – person?
For the first time ever I found myself regretting how often I spat insults in the man’s face. I still meant them and would happily repeat them – loudly and from various rooftops – but they didn’t exactly cast me in the best light as future spouse material.
Oh damn, thinking of myself as a spouse to anyone just froze me in place which wasn’t exactly safe when driving a tank like the Munstermobile (to the other cars on the road since the Cadillac could run someone over and it wouldn’t even slow down its massive momentum). I forced myself to pay attention to my surroundings as I drove to the address where I could find Marcone.
But my thoughts circled back around. I ended up wondering again: What did Marcone want?
Other than to rule the world like any Dark Lord worth his salt.
Ugh… that was probably unfair. Marcone’s ambitions weren’t that extreme.
I hoped.
As far as I knew he only wanted to rule Chicago. Something he was solidly on his way to achieving without me being any kind of help. And now that he was learning magic from Thorned Namshiel it wasn’t as if my magic was a big bargaining chip.
But I did have one thing which I could throw in the pot: My reputation.
I’d always sort of ignored the way others responded to me. I hadn’t liked that the White Council saw me as dangerous. I didn’t like how the Paranetters were now wary of me. I hadn’t liked how worried my friends had become since I’d taken up the mantle of the Winter Knight (even if I shared in their concern).
But everything I was, with everything I’d done, had caused my reputation to grow by leaps and bounds over the last several years. All I’d fought and survived translated to status in the supernatural world. Status which often correlates to power and influence.
There was a reason so many of the supernatural powerhouses guard their reputations. A damned good example was how Nicodemus was fairing right now with his own name in the toilet. He was no longer protected by the Accords, and since he’d been outed as the backstabbing asshole he was, he was being hunted by anyone and everyone with an ax to grind. Considering how many broken lives he had left in his wake he’s got a lot of payback headed his way.
Nicodemus had built his power base over decades, centuries, and millennia. And in less than a handful of years it was in ruins.
That was how important reputations were among the supernatural set.
It was the same reason Marcone had become that much more fanatically protective of his reputation. And why he’d leveled so many threats about not being disrespected by yours truly. It would actually be a hit to his power base if he didn’t address an insult.
And I… well, my reputation had grown in ways I hadn’t truly considered until it had been brought to my attention. If I ignored the Winter Knight schtick...
I’m the Warden of Demonreach. I’m the Wizard of Chicago.
I’ve killed a loup- garou. I’ve killed faerie queens of Summer and Winter. I’ve wielded hellfire and soulfire. I won the duel against Count Ortega. I’ve used necromancy to reanimate a dinosaur and brought down several of Kemmler’s apprentices. I’ve led the Wild Hunt. I’ve destroyed the Red Court of Vampires down to the last member. I’ve walked on the other side of the veil as a ghost and I’ve come back.
I’ve imprisoned the Last Titan. Bound her to my will.
My reputation painted me as freaking dangerous as a nuclear core in the middle of a meltdown.
Never mind that half the time I survived by the skin of my teeth, through luck, or with the support of my friends and allies. Hell, even Marcone a few times.
The fine details weren’t important. Only the end results mattered.
That was what I had to bargain with. All I really had to offer was myself.
I hoped it was enough.
|
You stand outside a tent, your hands upon your swords, your back towards the heavy cloth. Inside, tables bear green and pale white treasures upon velvet the color of cream, held aloft in intricately carved trays the way palace servants in shawls and kimonos demurely presented porcelain bowls and gold-gilded fans and silken cloth to your mother. Behind another heavy cloth and past another silent and armed guard, boxes rubbed with sharp-smelling resins hold behind their clenched shut locks ruyi in clouded sighs of light purple, carved deep lavender spirits frozen with flutes lifted to their lips, and plates in white so pale its translucent.
In the largest box, something you only saw once in a glimpse that had the merchant watching you warily for over the course of the next three days: A dragon writhing through thick clouds and between flowering branches in loose coils. Its claws grip smooth curves and it turns its scowling head out, mouth open in a roar, so that the tea within the almost priceless jade pot can pour out its throat. Every scale along its neck catches the light along thin edges. No dragons adorn the accompanying set of teacups where instead less extinct wildlife frolic and prance among blossoms and wisps and branches.
No one in this town, or the next, or the one after that can remotely afford that tea set. No one except royalty could afford that tea set and you don’t ask how the merchant got his hands on it in the first place.
At what passes for dinner, late after the market finally closes and you’re practically nodding off into your bowl of rice, the other guard sets aside her empty bowl and asks, “What do you know about jade carving?”
Of the act itself, basically nothing.
She explains, “When carving jade, you must never use earthbending to change the stone’s shape or colors. The best artists can use earthbending to understand more of the fractures, stresses, and impurities within, but they will never bend what nature has given into something else.”
“Why not?” you ask around a bite of the too wet rice.
“It would break the harmony between nature and human along with corrupt the spirituality of what you make, especially pendants. Nature provides the raw materials that make our blood and bones. It would be an affront to try correcting what nature and the spirits give,” she answers, then stands up, bowl back in hand to wash it off and put it away. “All these war dogs have forgotten what it means for nature.”
You scoop out the last of the rice and follow her. “Is earthbending forbidden from other gemstones?”
“Yes. So now you understand more of our employer’s business and the deep stubbornness these artists operate on. You should learn from them. Every job should have a valuable lesson to learn from,” she says, then, “Do you want to spar again tomorrow? We’ll be packing up soon since business’s so slow here.”
You eagerly leap upon the offer.
The pay and meals that come from guarding and escorting merchants can be dubious at best, as every trader inevitably skips over you with your scar and the scrawniness of puberty slamming into you with not nearly enough food to brace yourself. The number of people willing to hire someone without a name beyond You are even less.
But they’re an invaluable source of news from the front lines, of who pushed which division away from what territory and what roads and trade routes are now dangerous. Merchants are incurable gossips with at least a quarter of their minds obsessively tracking the fortunes and failures of each other and who is likely to cheat you out of fair prices for genuine goods. You see more of the Earth Kingdom bouncing from employer to employer within the last two months than you had wandering alone for the previous four.
You also fight an incredible amount of bandits and hired thugs thanks to this line of work, more so than you thought possible before. Between the thieves and the other guards, you have more practice than ever in using your swords and your cold hand-to-hand. Merchants also make entering the great cities much easier than if you’d been alone and you always spend a week or two dashing through alleys and clambering up walls and being a general menace to the local police or guards receiving complaints about odd shadows.
As you travel northeast, you pass through alternating fields and hills. While you watch deer sprint away, your heart clutching its corroding memory of your cousin’s face asks, Did Lu Ten see those mountains upon that horizon?
Did Lu Ten run his hands upon these trees? Did Lu Ten hear from the edge of the army’s camp the gongs and bells of these towns at every draining of the great hourglass in their market square centers? Did Lu Ten taste the tart flesh of these fruit as spring bloomed?
After a day’s hiking, you reach the crest of a hill that almost counts as a mountain and see, rising in the distance with the menace of a rushing tsunami, the hazy great white walls of Ba Sing Se.
Lu Ten told you once, on his first break back from his officer training, of the elements and their defenses. The Earth Kingdom carves out valleys and rings itself with mountains. The Water Tribes entrap their enemies in the frigid hold of ice rising as walls around their cities. The Air Nomads cloaked themselves in winds and the suffocation of a vacuum.
And what does the Fire Nation have, you asked, hands gripping a cake filled with lotus seeds folded into a sesame seed paste.
He smiled for you and said, Our blessings, our cunning, and our might. The Fire Nation does not retreat, so the Fire Nation does not need defenses for our cities. Who could attack the home islands?
Your breath shudders in your dry mouth, until you swallow, bow your head, and turn around, walking away.
When the trees rise up around you and you sit by a river, flimsy fishing pole in hand, you do not dwell on the triptych of your treasons. First, for questioning your father, for disrespecting him before all his great army advisors, for daring to suggest that the voice of the flame and Agni could be so incorrect, could even be failing his duties. Second, if you had stood up, if you had called even the tiniest ember to your hands and feet with the intent of harm towards your father, you, a filial son, breaking your duty – without even getting into the grounds for death when said father is the Fire Lord. Third, for not fighting when the Fire Lord commands and the disrespect of insubordination, for not finding a way to twist yourself out of the trap encaging you.
Something bites on your line and you reel it in, another fish for your meager pile which you kill with a knife severing its head from its still thrashing body. The spark rocks you begrudgingly bought sit in the pockets you sewed on with crooked lines and uneven stitches. They remain there while you gut your catches and dig a hole to bury the entrails and the scraped off scales, while you sharpen thin sticks and rub salt into the slick skin and flesh and roast your meal over a fire. You eat quickly, before a platypus bear comes investigating the smell.
Some days, the bruises on your knuckles convince you that you deserve this piteous new life for your treasons. Some days, the rain drenching your lungs convinces you that you don’t, that something had gone wrong. That somewhere in your past, a misstep among your many unlucky missteps took you upon the wrong path.
Some days, the ash from another long burned out village convinces you that you didn’t arrive at this destination on your own, that someone or the whole world pushed you off solid ground into the ravine.
The mask, to your displeasure, fits your face perfectly. You tie it on during one of your morning training sessions because no one stops you from doing so and you might as well learn how to fight and move with it on. The eye slits further limit your already reduced vision, so you take to the trees on a silent chase until you’re able to place the location of every bird and possum and fox with your hearing alone.
Then you go hunt a bear with the mask on.
A virtue of all the odd jobs you’ve been taking these last several months of your new life: you’re no longer the boy a sailor yelled at for not knowing how to properly hold a broom. You know how to build a stone wall by hand, how to hunt and passably shoot, how to bargain and filter rumors, how to nail someone on the head with a mahogany jewelry box, and how to butcher an animal and stretch every part into feeding thirty people.
Lotus leaves you gathered earlier for exactly this reason get wrapped and tied around the parts of the meat. You scrape the tissue and fat from the pelt as best you can into a bamboo tin, preparing the fur passably enough for someone more professional to finish, and roll the skin like a carpet. The last of your bandages go towards wrapping your washed and treated wounds, but the coin you’ll get from selling these goods, especially the liver and heart, will go towards buying more supplies. Maybe you’ll finally be able to replace the worn-out whetstone that was already on its last legs when you acquired it.
The shadows under the forest’s red leaves gain an orange tint in the bright sunlight, dimpled across the path you walk. The latitude here isn’t low enough for the depths of winter’s touch, but accustomed as you are to the caldera’s year-round heat, you send flickers of flame along your arms to chase off the evening’s slight chill. You’ve never had better control over fire as now, when the twin pressures of the memory of searing flame and the sure promise of death if anyone notices evidence from your shaky morning practice weigh you down.
Early the next morning, the town of Shaji nervously welcomes you. In the market center, a low tremor thrums. You wade through the whispers and tensions towards the meat market – easier to find than a tanner – with your ears open to the sideways glances and the whispers.
A woman approaching forty accepts your parcels, unwrapping your leaves and weighing your catch. She points towards one of your rougher cuts and warns, “Be more careful next time. I won’t be able to sell this piece for as much, it’s much too rough at the joints.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” you say and mentally deduct a few coins from your expectations.
“Luo,” she calls into the bustle of people setting up for the day’s first customers. “Come help me process this platypus bear.”
Someone who is either her nephew or son emerges from a few rows down. He trots over, taking in the fur slung across your shoulders. Together, they rewrap the meat and sellable organs in plain cloth that will keep out the meltwater from the ice they pack around each parcel. Though she remains wholly focused on her work and counting out your haggled money, he keeps flicking uncertain glances towards your face. You maintain your straight spine and stiffly fail to ignore him.
“Where’s the tanner?” you ask once you’re relieved of most of your burden.
The woman points through the steadily filling crowd towards the north side of the square, saying, “Go out that exit, then turn right and at the next street turn left. There will be a shop on your right.”
The man watches you in suspicious silence.
You and your bear pelt push your way through the crowd along the directions that prove true. The tanner makes a noise of surprise at the leaves you line the skin with, but he doesn’t have to deal with washing out the dirty residue on the fur anymore, so he quickly quiets. Copper coins pass from his hands to yours and you make your leave, straight into the path of a clump of Fire Nation soldiers.
Oh no.
Before they have a chance to realize there’s any reason to pay attention to you among the many villagers tensely beginning their day, you wrench yourself against a wall and haul yourself onto the roofs as fast as you can. Adrenalin floods your veins as you press yourself flat against the shingles and throw every prayer of thanks you can think of to Agni that you managed to sell all your bear parts already, freeing you from their bulk and weight. You pray some more that his favor will hold, and you will manage to escape this situation alive.
The soldiers move on, turning a corner further down the street: a patrol route on a newly captured town. You hadn’t accounted enough for the slow movement of rumors and now you are paying for your mistaken calculations of the frontline’s slithering travel.
Slowly, silently, you reach your hand towards the mask strapped upon your hip. It fits, as always, perfectly. Then you stand and sprint upon clay and wooden roofs, until you find an awning towards the edge of town you can safely stash your bag, until you gather a better picture of the red infection pushing its way into the town, the trails towards the forests where the main bulk of the army makes temporary camp, and the many blind spots in the main building commandeered for command.
When a window of opportunity opens, you sneak into the large building’s halls, tracking down all the scrolls on marching orders you can. Relaxed by the low threat level of a small town of mostly woodcutters and trappers, no one interrupts you for long enough to riffle through the newest maps and correspondence. Most importantly, you unearth the directives laying out the inventory of the supply lines and planned path through the forests.
As night falls the next day, you raid the couriers, taking just enough to be back on your way towards the east, as clearly creeping back west does you far more harm than good. You are already a treasonous son of the flame, what’s one more coal-black mar, one more theft, upon your nameless honor? At least you now know you can fight just as well with the mask on as without.
Of further proof of the parade of mistakes you’ve made your life, you open your eyes from your interrupted nap to see a fox-faced, hunched over form crouching on the end of the branch you tied yourself to. You stare at each other, then you flick your fingers, testing your bending. Fire sparks around your fingers. “Okay then,” you say, slow and cautious.
“We have a job for you! A job for You!” the messenger says, grinning with at least seven canine teeth.
What’s the point of praying to spirits for food and safety if they just send you straight into danger anyways? Untying the rope around your waist, you begrudgingly asks, “What is it?”
“A hunt. A quest!” it barks.
You watch it cautiously, then swing yourself out of the trees and back onto the ground. There’s no running away from the spirits but having both of your feet on stable dirt gives you the illusion of choice between fighting back or fleeing.
The messenger fazes straight through the tree branch, still shrilly calling out, “We request an embodiment of air, of fire, of earth, of water.” It lurches at your face. “But air first.”
“And this will get my name back,” you confirm, just to be sure.
It bobs along amicably, feet churning through the air as it trots in circles around you, not one paw touching the dirt even once. Finally, it decides on, “In part. Your effort will get You’s name back.”
You begin walking through the trees just for something to do as the fox-faced messenger flips onto its back and leers at you from upside down. You ask, “What am I looking for?”
“An artifact in the east,” it cheerfully explains, “What was lent out hasn’t been returned. What was lent out must be returned. So, we send forth You so that what was lent out will be returned.”
East. East? “The Eastern Air Temple?”
The spirit flips back upright and huffs, “If You must call it that.”
You are nowhere near the Eastern Air Temple. You have no idea where the temple is exactly either. You have no idea what will be there or how to get there. This is an absolute disaster.
There’s no way you can back down.
So you ignore the spirits dogging your footsteps while you take a couple weeks scraping together enough money to buy an ostrich horse from a deeply suspicious breeder. That secure, you ride east and vaguely southward, along the eastern peninsula of the great Leopard’s Bay, until you hit the port town at its end. You sell the ostrich horse, breaking even on her value, and then begin the inglorious ordeal of learning how to sail a ship by yourself since no one wants to go anywhere near the mountainous islands of the air temple with you.
“Your job, your job,” the fox-faced messenger choruses exceedingly obnoxious in your ear.
“Shut up,” you snap at it, gritting your teeth at the ropes burning against your palm. “I’m working on it, unless you spirits will carry me to the temple without putting me into deeper debt.”
“Nope!” it replies and puffs into ephemeral nothingness.
But at least the messengers don’t overtly bother you as much anymore, letting you continue your exchange of service on the fishing boats for sailing lessons and practice in uneasy peace. Eventually, you cobble together enough skills and abilities that you think you can make it to the temples without getting smashed into pieces by the currents. You rent the smallest and cheapest boat you can find that won’t capsize at the barest nudge.
The next day, there are two foxes lounging in the shade of the inn’s front doorway. They come to attention at your exit from the building and trot along at your heels. A whole pack congregates at the piers when you cast off, a silently heckling crowd.
You set sail under clear weather, minimizing the chance of a storm drowning you and maximizing your chance of locating the right mountain to climb. Squinting through the spyglass you acquired, you pinpoint the hazy glint of what might be sunlight reflecting off the roof tiles of a tower. You sail towards the rocky shore.
When you reach the mountains and drag your boat onto the rocky shore enough so no tides can wash it back away, the realization that you’re going in the right direction comes easily enough when you suddenly stumble upon a lone discarded Fire Nation helmet covered in vegetation. Lifting the corroded metal and leather reveals no skull within. You drop it back to the ground and continue walking. It’s dead weight. You can’t keep it. But you look for more as you keep climbing, looking for marks of an army, impressions that could last a hundred years against wind and water and plants.
The mountains, for the most part, are a geometry of sheer cliffsides and damp vegetation and hauling yourself up hand over hand against the steep inclines. You had circled the base as much as you could, looking for a way up that troops in regiments could have traveled along – they must have reached the top somehow – but find little signs of anything except narrow ledges and almost vertical rock.
You grit your teeth and pull yourself along the narrow tightrope over overexerting yourself and knocking yourself unconscious with your unbalanced blood and bodily metabolism. The rocks scrape your fingers into a dirty mess. And up and up and up you go.
It’s quiet, in the air.
When you reach the temple, muscles trembling, breath heaving, tendons burning, you weren’t expecting company, but here you are. “Hello traveler,” a man about as old as your late grandfather – maybe – calls out to you. What the hell? How did he get here?
Awkwardly, you lift your arm with tremendous effort and silently wave back.
He introduces himself, genially, as you draw a few steps closer, “I am Guru Pathik. There aren’t many visitors to the temples. Who are you?”
“Someone looking for something,” you tell the guru instead of thinking about how much you never want to hear that question again.
He draws his wiry frame sharp and hard. “You’d disturb this temple for a hunt?”
“I –” you pause and brace your hands against your hips and do your best at locking your legs, so you won’t fall over on your face in front of this man. He waits for you to look back up. You clarify, “I’m not looting. Or … not willingly. I need to fix a mistake.”
“Quite a mistake it must be, for you to travel all the way here,” the guru says.
You shrug and shake the hair that came out of your braid back out of your face. Company isn’t anything you remotely expected here, but now that it’s here and you’re here, maybe you can make some use out of it. Of course, he could double-cross you if you ask for his help, like too many in the Earth Kingdom easily had, all of you trying to survive for yourselves. But it says something doesn’t it, for someone to live alone with the wind up here where the air doesn’t feel right in your lungs and there are only the echoes clinging on against the merciless passage of time.
Your hope still isn’t enough to let you sit while he stands, so you don’t sit. You do say instead, “The spirits lent something years ago. It wasn’t returned and they want it back.”
Of course whatever this is wasn’t returned. There are holes smashed into the buildings, roofs collapsed in, and rotting tree trunks slumped against battered walls. There are plants growing in a free for all through cracks in the stone walkways and through open doorways. A hundred years.
“I don’t even know what I’m looking for,” you mutter.
Guru Pathik runs a hand over his thick beard and for an insane second, the image of your uncle flashes through you, body and soul. It leaves you just as quickly in a blinding crash of lightning and you elect to completely ignore whatever the emotions rolling through your strained and weary limbs in a thunderous wake mean.
“The spirits?” he says. “Perhaps I can help you with that.”
Apparently, Guru Pathik’s been living– not squatting – here for years because of spiritual reasons. On a more cosmic level upon the individual instead of the kind of spiritual you’ve unwillingly gotten too familiar with. He offers you something yellow and with an eyewatering smell as the sun sets and you take it because you never refuse food anymore.
You’ve eaten worse. It’s still undeniably one of the weirdest things you’ve eaten.
He also, it turns out, knows how to roll out knots and stretch your limbs in a way you haven’t experienced since years ago when your family went on more vacations to resorts and beaches with masseuses. When he’s done with you, it’s all you can do to lay on the chilling stones, feeling like freshly pounded mochi. It does mean that the next day, you’re able to more than hobble your way through the temple, behind the guru giving you a tour of where could be more helpful.
There isn’t a lot. There are corners still stained with ash. There are rooms taken over by the rain and the birds. There are walls bleached by the sun, draining away the color from the murals painted from the floor to the ceiling. There is rubble and debris everywhere, that would take too long and too much effort for the two of you to clear away.
There are libraries, crumbling into pieces.
“From the Air Nomads’ travels,” Guru Pathik tells you. “Information and stories from all over the world, as the winds took them. Though, not the kind of information and stories you and I may be used to.”
“It’s a start,” you tell him, and gently pull the first scroll out.
But you do not know how to treat the fragile, ancient scrolls any better than the years have mistreated them. The resins on the wooden parts are cracked and flaking. The paper of some scrolls has rotten and comes apart in your hands. Ink rusts. And to make matters worse, you can’t make heads or tails of any kind of organizational structure to the shelves and piles you find and you can barely read what has survived a century.
Dredging up your lessons on the olden script used before the simplification imposed by Azulon’s reign so more soldiers could attain promotion easier, you muddle your way through what remains to be read.
Which … You learn how they farm, how they steam their bread with a steadily controlled stream of air. You learn how they travel, how they carry news and gossip to every corner of the world, the way the upper atmosphere winds carry pollen and seeds. You learn about their bison – you learn a lot about their bison – how to feed a herd, to muck out their stalls, to comb their shedding fur, to tend to their illnesses, to birth their calves, to fit them with a saddle, to –
“How is any of this supposed to help me,” you almost yell in frustration a few days later, rubbing your thumbs against your strained eyes. “None of this says anything about interactions with the spirits, let alone some artifact.”
It’s been over a week since you last saw one of the fox-faced messengers and you almost wish one would obnoxiously show up again, just so you’d have an opportunity to grab it and shake it until more answers fall out. In reality, your chances of laying your hands on one of the spirits is nonexistent, but you vividly dream.
“I’m going about this wrong,” you say one morning as Guru Pathik tries cajoling you with another bowl of onion banana juice which you honestly don’t need. “The Air Nomads didn’t have many possessions. Finding what I need should be an easy process of elimination.”
“You’d overturn the whole temple in your search?”
Though uneasy, you look at him and say firmly, “That may be what it takes.”
Along that misty border between dream and something else, you are alone with only the wind howling as it rushes off the cliff. You are alone with only the charred bodies, picked clean to the bone, watching.
In the dream: Heat shines down hard from its traveling throne in the sky. You are alone among the living. You are not alone among the dead, the bodies that you know, molasses slow, were cleared away by someone else in the waking world. You are not alone with the angry wind.
The sun and rains have long drained the color from the disintegrating robes and your tentative touch crumbles the threads further.
There was an army, a tired voice says in the back of your mind, worn out like something blasted by the desert sands, by all you have seen of the destruction and blood in the Earth Kingdom. They had the Avatar who wielded indisputable might. Fire is not an element of defense; it was only logical that –
How old was the Avatar supposed to have been? Your age? Older? No one refers to the Avatar after Roku by name, so they hadn’t been presented to the world yet, meaning – young. They were young.
All the Air Nomads are gone. Azula, Ty Lee, Mai, and you may have been trained young, but that didn’t make you parts of the army. Azula just began wearing armor when you saw her last, in deference to her royal status and not from military experience. Lu Ten didn’t start his training in the army proper until he was fifteen. All the Air Nomads are dead so that must mean –
The sun. It’s so hot against your back, against your bowed head.
In the great tower at the peak, you find the densest gathering of bones and smoke-stained fabric, where they fled the incursion boiling up from below into the air that should have promised freedom and only gave choking poison. A single harsh laugh barks out of you, unbidden. Alarmed, you slap a hand over your mouth, as if that can contain the echo mirroring your fatigued bitterness.
You draw your hand away slowly. You say into the dusty and rain-stained silence, “There were no armies.”
Yes, the silence of the thin, tiny bones responds, there was only one army and it bore flames.
An army wouldn’t huddle in fear, draped over each other in futile protection. An army wouldn’t wear no armor, not even a scrap of harden leather to be found. An army wouldn’t go tumbling for the windows and the plunge.
The sun moves on in its path through the sky. Shadows return through the holes in the walls and the roof.
You give the scrolls one last go.
By the time ancient scripts start floating through your chaotic dreams of running away from something, you run into an interesting half-disintegrated and water-damaged scroll on temperature control. Namely, every master airbender could walk around the arctic poles shirtless and suffer no consequences. How’d they manage that?
The illustrations do not bring about any further clarity and time has eaten half the script. You bring the scroll to Guru Pathik, who you find once again practically on the roofs which cannot be physically sound for how much time he spends on them.
“Do you know how to do this?” you ask, showing him your passage of interest.
“I am not an airbender,” he says, amused.
You ignore this. “You’re the closest to an airbender I’m going to ever find outside of the Spirit World,” you tell him.
“I am not a bender,” he amends, still amused.
“This isn’t about bending, this is about –” you make a noise as you try to think, “This is about worldview. Or something. Something about … I don’t think I’m translating this correctly.”
Finally, the guru gives the scroll a closer look. You read over what you can again. On the most basic level, you think it’s talking about air currents and how to catch a rising warm wind over a heavier, colder air. But all this discussion folds into one cut-off passage about inner chi and dispassion and “an alleviation of restraints.”
“Bear an open mind,” Guru Pathik says. “Each martial form’s flow of chi is not rigidly limited to each element. Each element represents something different which brings its strength, but without acknowledging how the elements interact, benders weaken themselves.
“Air abstains from restraints. It flows freely through and around us, parting away from direct attack. The masters likely control the flow of hot and cold in their bodies with the same ease they navigate the currents.”
You give the scroll another squint, trying to decipher the damaged and smeared text. Making guesses, you ask, “Controlling warmth?”
“Perhaps,” he acknowledges.
You won’t always manage to avoid winter. The Fire Nation’s hold of the northern Earth Kingdom territories strengthens with each season and soon enough, you’ll be pinned into the southern districts when the temperature drops. Figuring out how this works and if you can learn it too, despite being a firebender, could be a matter of life and death out on the road.
Firebenders with sufficient control can elevate their body temperatures and counteract environmental cold that way but done for too long and the body begins deteriorating from a self-induced fever. And obviously, cupping open flame in your hands in the Earth Kingdom is a flagrant death wish.
Not to mention the additional issue of … well, you think your bending’s been suffering. It must be. You set your swords on fire a couple weeks back. No one in the Fire Nation would ever consider something so sloppy and roughshod like that. Your aim’s still precise, but there’s no telling how many mistakes you’re crystalizing in your forms as you get into more and more brawls instead of spars. And you haven’t been practicing nearly as much as you should.
But if the Air Nomads could control warmth, then why can’t you, a firebender, control warmth as well? Steam from a boiling pot can burn skin and hot metal can burn flesh. You don’t need flame for warmth. If you can wield heat without the flame, maybe you can finally practice every day again. And fight better. And survive winter. That last one’s the most important.
“Are there prayers where you can ask for forgiveness?” you ask Guru Pathik one clear dawn. Research isn’t getting you the answers you need and it’s time for you to do what you should have since the moment you arrived here: start digging through all the remains in the temples until you hit upon a likely candidate.
He shakes his head no. “Not for what you intend to do. But we can be as respectful as we can be.”
“We?” you warily say.
For the couple of weeks you’ve spent at the temple, you and the guru actually haven’t spent that much time together. You easily go a full day without glimpsing him once as you hunt for clues. On a subliminal level you can’t articulate, he makes you uncomfortable. It’s not that he makes a point of digging at what could have led a spirit-cursed Fire Nation citizen to rooting around in the ruins of an Air Temple. Nor does he say anything explicit towards you about how you rise with the sun or how when you cup your hands and breathe warmth back into your fingers there are flickers of orange.
He holds his peace, patiently but knowingly, and maybe that’s what you can’t stomach facing head on.
“Many hands make light work,” he says serenely. “And I could help explain what the things you find are supposed to be used for.”
You shift your weight from side to side, not quite bouncing. You don’t understand why he’s offering his help in this way now; maybe he just wants you gone already, your search having taken more time than either of you anticipated. Maybe he just wants to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t steal more than you claim you’re here for, make sure you don’t cause even more disrespect to the windswept ruins.
Guru Pathik continues half-smiling at you. His accompanying you isn’t up for debate.
“Okay,” you grudgingly concede.
You begin your search on the most westward tower. As you suspect, the architecture of the temples is not stable anymore, as exemplified when one of the great bridges between the three main segments nearly collapses under you and attempts to hurl you towards your death. You scamper across and refuse to give any thoughts to the mist obscuring the ground far, far below your feet or how the Air Nomads apparently didn’t put any stock into the necessity of guard rails or barriers around their plazas and balconies. Fine, yes, they can all fly, plummeting to their death isn’t as likely for them as anyone else, but still. Surely they must receive non-airbending visitors.
In your hunt you find: a lot of insect-chewed cloth, what Guru Pathik tells you are components for an air bison’s saddle, a pot of powdery dye that makes you sneeze unendingly, more scraps of cloth and colored paper, an extremely fermented jar of juice from some unknown origin, and two chipped and splintering spinning wheels.
The guru calls for a lunch break and you shrug and accept a single small plum. You aren’t really hungry. Chasing the plum’s sweet juice before it can get all over your fingers, you say, “I hope the artifact’s not broken.”
That would be unbearably awkward.
He has another bowl of freshly prepared fruit mashed with onion, a kind of rice-like berry this time, and between sips he considers your words and says, “Gifts and trinkets from the Spirit World are generally sturdier than what humans can make. A drop from here to the seas wouldn’t be enough to break most spirit objects.”
That’s great news, except now you’re preoccupied with the worry that someone might have chucked what you’re looking for into the forests below and you’d really be in a fix then.
The moment he finishes his bowl, you tell him, “I’m going to keep looking,” and set off. Scouring the whole tower takes the better part of a day and a half. You turn up nothing that seems like it came from the Spirit World.
You can and will break into the rooms sealed away with airbending locks if you have to.
“Let’s not jump to that yet,” your chaperon tells you and guides you away with a firm hand against your shoulder.
On a morning that already started off badly when you woke up with a deep and all consuming craving for the jeweled fish the palace cooks sautéed with slices of ginger and tender bamboo shoots and the freshest star anise the kitchens could procure, which you will never get to eat again, Guru Pathik accompanies you into the nurseries.
Cribs, apparently, don’t change design that much between nations and centuries. You tiredly stare at their dust covered forms for longer than you mean to, weariness and history heavy on your head.
There are many cribs.
Everything is great.
“Where are the bodies?” you ask towards the dust. There must be bodies. The Fire Nation army wouldn’t spend time burying the dead they just killed. They aren’t with the Earth Kingdom. There are skeletons in shallow rows here and there among the grass and the dirt, bones at the base of cracked and shoot-covered stone coins, the smell of rot and sweat and vomit and blood in forests. Everywhere the army goes, there’s the mess of torn up dirt and charred plants. If there are cribs, there should be bodies.
“They’re at rest,” Guru Pathik says.
At rest. Who put them to rest? The guru? Someone else, earlier during the war, before whole generations of every nation were chewed up by the killing machine, who heard and grieved and knew to mourn? And how do you put a people with the wind’s freedom in their veins to rest?
On the home islands, where there isn’t enough land to bury every of the many dead, you would light pyres until everything returned to ashes. In the Earth Kingdom, where there is enough land for their even more dead, they place their bodies in the ground. You’re not sure what the Water Tribes do, but they live at the poles which means more ice than dirt.
How does anyone even start putting to rights the wrongs your family has spread?
You nod and huff out a deep breath.
Knocked almost behind a table, half covered by old cloth, there is a flute carved from ivory and engraved with swirling clouds. When you reach out to it, before your fingertips make contact, you feel the brush of a faint hum and the resentful thrum of silenced melodic notes. After a second’s hesitation, you pick it up anyways and brush away dirt from the threads of inlaid oyster shell.
You straighten from your crouch and hold it out. “Here.”
The guru makes a considering noise and says, “That certainly doesn’t fit with what the Air Nomads would make.”
He doesn’t take it.
Rubbing a thumb along its side, you consider how to secure it in your pack. You tell him, “I’ll be going tomorrow then.”
He smiles and you don’t examine what, who, that reminds you of. “Very well then traveler. I’ll see you off tomorrow when the sun rises.”
The sun rises as it always does and before you begin your descent back down the cliffs and mountains, you look one last time at the broken towers. You look at the trees and plants growing wild and unbending to the wind, whispering to each other in the breeze, standing vigil side-by-side with the solemn statues of unfamiliar nuns.
It’s quiet, in the air.
There are nine foxes waiting for you at the piers when you return. Everyone at the docks refuses to look at them or interact with them, giving their statue still forms a wide berth. The fox in the middle of the pack bounds forward while you secure the boat and launches itself, screaming, at your shoulders. You yell back in confusion. Anyone that was around scatters.
It yanks your pack off you and sprints away with a kick that barely misses your head. En masse, the other foxes fall into formation after it. You spend the rest of the afternoon chasing after them, shouting for your money and supplies back.
|
Unfortunately, Will was correct in his assumption that the sore on his backside would be redder and angrier(just a touch, however) the next morning. Nathan cleaned, medicated, and dressed the area methodically, then left the instructions for Will to spend, at least the next two days, on complete bed rest. He was not amused.
I tried my best to keep his spirits up, though I had a sinking suspicion I was just making things worse. I finally relented to Will's insistence that I proceed alone with our plans, midday on Friday. He went so far as to refuse even the slightest altering in said plans, especially since they would be put in place only to accommodate him. So of course my suggestion that Thomas and I spend our scheduled time together at the annex instead of on the Art Walk, was met with the stiffest resistance. "It's the one thing he's been looking the most forward to, Clark. I'll be damned if I'm the reason he misses out on that experience."
I appeased Will, for the most part. I'd only cut out early a few times, using the excuse of bringing back a treat, or unfinished course work, or just being tired myself as the reasons for my return. And while still completely enjoyable, many of the experiences just didn't feel right without Will there by my side.
Sunday morning we were met with bright sunshine to start the day and the good news that Will would be able to slowly transition back to brief periods of time in his chair, later on that day.
"So, what would you like this morning?" I'd asked Will after first seeing Nathan out.
"To get out of this bloody bed," he replied with a dramatic groan.
I couldn't help but giggle a bit. "Later," was my compromise. "For now, I was asking about breakfast."
"I know," he muttered before pausing. "Maybe just some fruit. I'm really not all that hungry."
I nodded, saving my frown until I'd turned around. I was hoping Will's appetite would have returned now that things were looking up, but setbacks always seemed to effect him in the most negative ways.
I fixed Will a bowl of berries, then added a few other choices to the tray hoping he might pick one. But before I could get back to his room, there was a knock at the annex door.
When I returned to Will's room, I had a huge smile on my face, no tray of food, and a line of guests filing in behind me.
"What is this?" he immediately asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
While the ladies stood back, Mr. Traynor stepped forward and smiled at his son. "Since it's Georgie's last day with us and she has to leave right after the awards this afternoon, we thought we'd have one more family brunch together."
"In my bedroom?" Will quipped incredulously.
I heard Georgina softly giggling from her place behind me and I couldn't help but crack a smile myself.
"Of course not Darling, but since you're currently incapacitated, we decided it would be easier if we just brought brunch to you," Mrs. Traynor stated, forcing cheerfulness into a rather bleak situtaion.
"Actually Mother, I think it's safe to say that I'm pretty much always incapacitated," Will sneered, though his tone lacked it's usual contempt. "And while I'm not all that hungry, I'll take any excuse to get out of this blasted bed sooner than scheduled."
I could tell Mrs. Traynor was expecting more resistance from her son than she'd received, and a small, triumphant smile quickly spread across her lips. "Nathan's advised that, yes?"
"He said everything was healing nicely and later on today would be fine," I answered with a nod.
"It's later now, Clark," Will countered, cutting off any argument before it had even started. I had to bite back my grin of amusement at his tenacity.
"Steven, why don't you help Louisa get Will settled while Georgina and I take care of things in the kitchen?" a satisfied Mrs. Traynor instructed, and with a flourish, the two women were gone.
Mr. Traynor opted to use the transfer board, as Nathan usually did, instead of the hoist and within minutes, we had Will situated in his chair.
We met up at the table just as Georgina placed the last platter of food down. Will seemed to be none too concerned with his appearance, never asking to be changed out of his sweats, or any other form of grooming for that matter. Mrs. Traynor looked mildly amused as her son pulled up next to her. Smiling she tried to smooth the unruly mop atop his head. "Oh this hair," she commented, chuckling.
"Bedridden cripple, it's all the rage these days." Will's quip was met with a fiercely disapproving glare from me. "Sorry," he glanced up and apologized to his slightly startled mother almost immediately. "Louisa, would you mind giving me a trim later today?"
"Of course," I replied, my smile both exuding the love I had for him as well as warning him to behave himself.
For such an exuberant invitation, the air around the table seemed to thicken and become awkward, very quickly. Pleasantries were passed with the dishes, but were quickly replaced with the repetitious clanking of silverware. Ironically, it was Will who broke the ice, just a few long minutes into the meal. "You have one more event today, Georgie?"
If Georgina was surprised by her brother's acknowledgement, she covered it up quite nicely. "Two, actually-Dressage and Best of Show."
Will gave a small nod of understanding, then flashed a pointed glance in my direction. "Some strawberries please, Clark."
As I was feeding Will the bite, Mr. Traynor joined in the conversation. "Apollo was very impressive this weekend," he commented, sounding somewhat distracted.
"Yes, very Impressive," Mrs. Traynor nodded in agreement, smiling tightly. "I fully expect him to take the championship ribbon today. Of course with him already being so far in the lead, that's not much of a stretch."
"Hmmmhmm," Mr. Traynor hummed satisfactorily. There was a brief pause before he glanced back up from his plate and over at his wife. "Delicious meal, my Dear."
"Thank you," she returned with a cordial nod. "Georgina helped me prepare two of the dishes. She's becoming quite domesticated, wouldn't you say?"
I'd momentarily forgotten the fork I was holding up to Will, but couldn't help to notice the suspiciously confused glances being exchanged between the pair of siblings.
"What's going on here?"
At Will's authoritative tone, I returned the fork to his plate and set my hands in my lap.
"What do you mean, Darli-"
"You two have been acting strange all morning," Georgina cut in for her brother.
The Traynor's shared a uncomfortable glance at one another before Mrs. Traynor had to look away and the previous awkwardness returned ten-fold. Mr. Traynor cleared his throat. "Your mother and I didn't just arrange this time together as a farewell for you, Georgie, but also because there is a matter the two of us need to discuss with you and your brother."
Will's expression was unreadable, but poor Georgina looked on the verge of tears. I tried not to be disruptive as I slowly stood from my chair to give them some privacy. "Oh no Louisa, you're welcome to stay," Mrs. Traynor stated, her voice shaking only slightly.
I only locked eyes with Will for a split second, but they spoke volumes before he shifted them over to his parents. I lowered myself back down to my seat, but this time, rested my hand on Will's arm.
"Your Mother and I have been experiencing some marital issues for some time now. Something I'm sure you are both well aware of," Mr. Traynor started off, his tone apologetic. "We've thought long and hard these past few months and have come to a mutual agreement to seek out a professional for marriage counseling."
"Oh thank God," Georgina sighed, crumpling with relief. "I thought you two were about to announce you were divorcing."
"We have a lot of issues to still work out, Georgina," Mr. Traynor cautioned his daughter.
I followed Mrs. Traynor's gaze. "Will?" she asked guardedly. He sat rigidly, not with his usual stillness, but that tense jaw, narrowed eyes kind of stiffness.
"You're sure about this?" he challenged them both, but gazed pointedly at his father. "That this is what you both want?"
"Of course, Son-"
"What about her, Dad?"
Time stilled. Both Mrs. Traynor and Georgina shifted uncomfortably and tried to hide the tears forming in their eyes. It felt wrong for me to be involved in such an intimate family conversation, but I just couldn't leave Will's side, especially with him sounding so distraught.
"I've broken it off. Weeks ago in fact, the night we returned from Switzerland."
"So now you're doing this for me? For us?" Will scoffed, sending a glance in his sister's direction. "We're not children anymore, Dad. You two don't have to stay together for the kids, you know."
"Not for you two, but rather because of you two," Mr. Traynor corrected. "I was tired of living like that, of hurting the people I loved most." He paused a moment to glance at his wife, then held his hand out for hers. "What happened in Switzerland and the events that have followed, have made me reevaluate everything in my life. They've showed me what was truly important. Louisa's words, about second chances, those have especially hit home."
The appreciative smile Mr. Traynor was giving me, made my cheeks flush and my own eyes tear up. Squeezing his wife's hand, he switched his gaze to her. "I realized then that I wanted a second chance. A second chance, maybe the only one we'd have left, to be a proper family again. To be the family we once were."
Will's eyes were closed and he was trying his best to control his breathing. I wasn't sure if there was something I should be doing, but before I could react, his eyes slowly began to open. "Do you still love her?"
"Your Mother?" Mr. Traynor asked his son, after first following where his gaze had landed. "I never stopped, Will."
"Then how could you do that to her?" he demanded, blowing his words out in one anguished breath. "How can you say you love someone, say that you'll stay with them, yet be with someone else?"
The Traynor's glanced at one another, but Georgina was looking straight at me. We both knew that Will was no longer just talking about his father's extramarital affair, but also his own betrayal by Alicia and Rupert.
"I was selfish. I wasn't thinking of your mother, or you and your sister. I was only thinking of myself." Mr Traynor paused to clear his throat. "I was sad, lonely. It was a dark time-" Will's grumble of disdain, cut him off. "I'm not trying to justify my actions, Will, just trying to get you to understand them."
"I'm not sure I ever will, Dad," Will ground out, both softly and sadly.
"Precisely my reason for doing this," Mr. Traynor admitted to his entire family, me included, I suppose. "I have to at least try."
Time stilled again, but then Georgina rose from her seat to embrace her parents as Will simply looked on. I sat watching him. He no longer looked angry anymore, and though his jaw was still tight, the tenseness in his shoulders had eased some. There was mention of how late the time was getting and the three quickly broke apart.
Mrs. Traynor stepped over to Will and let her hand fall to his arm. "Are you feeling alright, Sweetheart?"
"A bit tired," he replied, curtly. There was a moment of pause as neither of them knew how to proceed. "If you're wanting to give me a hug, Mum, I'm afraid you're going to have to do most of the work."
A still teary-eyed Mrs. Traynor gave a slight nod and chuckled as she awkwardly embraced her son. I swore I heard her whisper, "I love you, Will" , into his ear before straightening up.
As Mr. Traynor neared, a look of disappointment clouded Will's features and he avoided eye contact. "We'll talk later?" Mr Traynor asked, hand gently squeezing Will's shoulder.
"Sure," he muttered, giving a small, noncommittal nod.
I was a bit perplexed by Will's reaction. I thought he'd be thrilled with the prospect of his parents reconciling.
The Traynor's bid me goodbye and thanked me for hosting on such short notice. I found that a bit funny since I was, by default, living in their house, rent free.
The only one's left to interact, were Will and Georgina.
"So. My flight leave shortly after the awards ceremony, and I won't be coming back to house-" she began, but paused and hesitated for a moment, as if considering what to say next. "November is a bit of an insane month for me, with everyone booking their winter holidays and such. I'm not sure I'll be able to get back here for your birthday, but I will definitely be back for an extended holiday at Christmas."
Will's eyes flickered upward, seemingly surprised by the announcement. "I'll be here."
I saw Georgina's expression soften instantly and a teary smile spread across her face. "You promise?" she asked, her voice as child-like and her tone was relieved.
At his slight nod of confirmation, Georgina gently slipped into her bother's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. I thought I heard her murmur a soft "thank you".
Will seemed caught off guard at first, but then his jaw tensed again and an expression settling somewhere between deep frustration and utter sadness, crossed his face. It suddenly occurred to me that he wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around his baby sister and hold her tight. My chest clenched painfully for the both of them.
It seemed Will Traynor did not hate his sister as much as she would have liked everyone to believe, either.
Mr. Traynor stayed behind to help me get Will back into bed. Once he was settled and necessities were taken care of, I sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. "Quite a morning?" Will didn't look at me, just let out a small grunt of agreement. "Are you okay?"
Only then did his deep grey eyes shift. "Why do you ask?
I gave a small shrug. "Oh, I don't know, you just don't seemed pleased with your parent's news."
Will frowned. "My family isn't like yours, Clark. "We're-," he paused for thought, "-complicated. As you can probably gauge from the awkwardness of our conversations, we rarely ever talk. I think we've eaten more meals together this past week than we did when I was in primary school. And how about those hugs?"
I stifled a laugh. "It seems as though they're making an effort to be more willing and open," I felt the need to point out.
"Or they're just going through some major mid-life crises," he countered, almost playfully, but then turned very serious. "As for my Dad and his affair, I'm not sure I'll ever be okay with it."
"I'm confused," I admitted, furrowing my brow. "It seems as though you have a much better relationship with your Dad than with your Mum. If his affair bothered you so much-"
"I hated him. As for the relationship, that part was purely out of necessity. I needed him more," Will cut in bitterly, sad eyes locking on mine. "Before you, it was just my Dad and Nathan to care for me."
"But your Mum-"
"The accident changed all of us so much, Clark," he muttered though a drawn out sigh. "It was just easier for me to keep villainizing my Mother and pretend that the affair wasn't actually happening, than to face it." I began to wonder which affair he was referring to, but said nothing. "Would you fix my pillows?"
His soft words broke me from my reverie. "Up or down?"
"Up."
I smiled and nodded, then got to work. "How's that?" I asked, adjusting the pillow that had shifted behind his shoulders.
"Better."
"Would you like me to raise the bed as well?"
"Yes, please."
I pressed the button on the control panel until Will's eyes told me to stop. He was more upright than usual, more than I was comfortable with, almost at a full ninety degrees. I was so preoccupied with my concern for his comfort and safety that I hadn't noticed just how close our faces were until he spoke. "Thank you, for being here," he murmured, eyes locked with mine. "I'm not sure I'd be able to handle all of my family's insanity if it wasn't for you."
My stomach fluttered and I had to swallow the lump in my throat before attempting to speak. "I'm not going anywhere," I vowed, hoping he could see the truth of my words in my smile.
"You promise?" Will asked, much like his sister had asked him, no more than an hour before.
"I promise," I replied, pressing my lips to his.
|
John wanted to punch himself in the face. He had been given a perfect opportunity to show Sherlock that he could do it too, and he’d gone and made a complete mess of it. Sherlock had offered him the bloody trainers and asked him to deduce them – and what had happened? Oh yes. Sherlock had said, “You missed almost everything of importance,” and had proceeded to deduce the owner of the shoes and the answer to the problem, right on the spot. John was humiliated, embarrassed and horribly aroused.
He had wanted to show Sherlock that he was clever. He had wanted to show Sherlock that he could think, that he was more than just an Omega, only of use for slaking lust and decorating his arm at formal events. And of course he had ended up proving exactly the opposite. For the final cherry on the top of his steaming pile of mortification, listening to Sherlock accurately deduce the answer himself had made John realize how much he longed for Sherlock to be his Mysterious Alpha.
Sherlock was brilliant. Sherlock was gorgeous. Sherlock was totally unattainable and married to his work. Even now, John wasn’t sure if the married to his work thing was a result of Mycroft’s injection or if it would have happened anyway. Because John had to admit, however unwillingly, that Sherlock and the Work were a perfect match. Sherlock loved the Work and was brilliant at it. When Sherlock didn’t have the Work he was frustrated, bored and destructive to everything around him. John was dreadfully jealous of the Work – it made Sherlock happy in a way that John never could. Sherlock would never want John that way, so the only way for John to share Sherlock’s life was to impress him with his ability to participate in the Work. John pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes and sighed.
____________________
John had been wrong. He didn’t want to punch himself; he wanted to punch Moriarty, whoever he was. Sherlock was absorbed in Moriarty, in the puzzles, in the Game that he and Moriarty were playing. John was humiliatingly aware that he was not a player in the Great Game. He was just another piece on the board, probably soon to be sacrificed if it gave Sherlock an advantage.
Finally, John’s bitter jealousy overflowed into words. “I hope you’ll be very happy together,” he spat at Sherlock.
Sherlock argued back and they had a fight that was about everything and nothing. The argument did not even touch the heart of the issue, which was that Sherlock was Sherlock. He didn’t care about people. John was John, and he cared about Sherlock. He was steering himself toward a major heartbreak. He had his eyes open and he still couldn’t help himself. He was finally learning the meaning of hopelessly in love. With a stress laid on the hopeless.
____________________
The case was closed, the Bruce-Partington Plans returned and Mycroft had offered Sherlock a knighthood. It was all finished and tied up with a pretty bow. John checked his calendar with satisfaction. For once, his body was on time and cooperating with him rather than ruining his life. The case was closed right before his heat was due, and he had managed to convince Sarah to take pity on him and help him through his next heat. She still hadn’t entirely forgiven him over the near-death experience and they weren’t dating, but as a doctor she saw the necessity of a friend in times of need. It wasn’t as if she would get nothing out of it, anyway. John was a damn good shag at the worst of times and when he was in heat… It would be a very satisfactory exchange of favours. He could feel the warmth starting to gather in his abdomen. Yes, very satisfactory.
As he packed his overnight bag, John thought back over the four pips Sherlock had solved. The woman in the car and the Carl Powers shoes, the man in the middle of Piccadilly Circus and the thing with Janus Cars, the elderly blind woman and the murder of Connie Prince (that had been solved, it hadn’t been Sherlock’s fault she had tried to tell him about Moriarty) and the young boy in the case of the fake Vermeer. All solved, and the pink phone had been silent ever since. Well, it had only been a day, but that was enough.
John clattered down the stairs and looked for Sherlock to tell him he was going out. Not seeing him John called out, “I’m going over to Sarah’s.” He decided not to go into detail. Sherlock would know what he meant.
“Look at the turn-ups on his jeans!”
John glanced down at the cords he was wearing, then sighed. Sherlock was shouting at the telly again. Ever since the Connie Prince case, Sherlock had developed an unhealthy obsession with crap telly. It would probably wear off, but there was no talking to him in the meantime. John quietly left the flat without attempting it.
Out on Baker Street, John debated walking to Sarah’s or hailing a cab. He was only in early heat, it would be safe to walk if he wanted to, but then he would arrive at Sarah’s already sweating from carrying his duffle. No, better to call a cab and get there with plenty of time to settle in and have a drink before his full heat struck. He raised his hand and was pleasantly surprised when a taxi arrived almost instantly. Finally, one heat where everything was going as planned. About time too.
John was therefore disappointed on several levels when the taxi swung into a sharp left turn and started heading off in the wrong direction. He shouted at the driver and tried to open the door to leap out, but it was locked and he was once again being kidnapped. Even worse, this time he didn’t think it was Mycroft.
____________________
John had been tied to a chair, beaten and interrogated for almost five hours, but the worst part was that they hadn’t given him anything to drink. He was in full heat now. He could feel his pants were wet with his lubrication, and his raised body temperature was burning off liquid at a rate that required replacement. His mouth was unpleasantly dry. Soon he wouldn’t be able to talk even if he wanted to.
He was just wondering if he should try to ask for a drink, or if that would just precipitate another beating, when Moriarty himself walked into the room. It was evident from the way everyone suddenly jumped to attention that the boss himself was here.
Moriarty was not as tall as John had expected, he only had an inch or two on John himself. He was elegantly dressed in a bespoke suit and his hands were pale and soft – the kind of boss who preferred others to handle the guns and sharp objects then.
Moriarty walked around John’s chair, looking at him from all angles. John did not give him the satisfaction of craning his neck to see him.
“Well, I’m not seeing it,” he finally remarked. “Whatever it is about you that Sherlock finds so interesting,” he rolled his eyes, “I’m just not seeing it.” He leaned in closer over John and made a show of scenting the side of his neck. John was tempted to try to bite him, but he was careful enough not to get quite that close.
“Uh-oh, maybe I was wrong. Maybe everyone was wrong?” He raised one eyebrow at John. “All the papers say that Sherlock has secretly claimed you for his Omega and that you two share torrid heats together in your flat while pretending to the world that you are both respectable bachelors.” His lips pursed in disgust, either pretended or real, John wasn’t sure. “But now I detect the unmistakable scent of unbonded Omega – Sherlock hasn’t bonded you after all. I wonder why that might be?” Moriarty tapped one finger on his chin as he pretended to think.
“Could it be…” his eyes widened in a show of surprise. “Did you tell him about your sordid past as a service Omega? He’s practically aristocracy and pure as an ascetic monk. Did he reject you Johnny? Did he refuse to sully his long pale hands by touching your well-used body?”
He walked another circuit around John’s chair. “No, I see by your body language that it isn’t so. Interesting. What could it be then?” He made another show of scenting John. “Because you smell pretty good to me, Johnny, and I don’t usually lower myself to consorting with Omegas. I generally prefer the company of my own kind. You haven’t been well rogered until an enormous Alpha cock has taken you hard and fast from behind, eh, Johnny? Of course you know what I mean, don’t you Johnny?” He raised his eyebrows and gave an exaggerated leer. “Is that what Sherlock likes too? Maybe both of you are lusting after little old me?” He gave an inappropriate giggle. The obviously fake emotions were starting to get on John’s nerves.
“But should I make an exception for you? If I took you to bed, would you make it worth my while?” Standing behind John he touched one cold finger lightly to the back of John’s neck. John couldn’t repress a shudder.
Moriarty giggled again. “It would be rather fun to send you back to Sherlock with my scent all over you, but there’s no time, no time. We have an appointment!” He clicked his fingers and said to the room at large, “Bring him.”
____________________
John was sweating heavily now, the heat hormones and the weight of the jacket and Semtex wrapped around him combining to make him thoroughly uncomfortable. There was a man with a gun right next to him, and Moriarty had assured him there were snipers all around the pool. Moriarty had disappeared after a quick sound check to make sure that John could hear his whispers through the earpiece. That had been quite a nasty sensation, to have to listen to Moriarty whispering suggestive things in his ear and having to repeat them aloud. Moriarty had made quite a show of getting aroused to the sound of John’s voice saying dirty things, but then he had disappeared. Presumably they were waiting for Sherlock to show up.
It must have been nearly half an hour before John finally heard Sherlock’s voice echoing around the pool. The actual words were too distorted for him to make out, but the voice in John’s ear prompted him to get up and walk out to where Sherlock could see him.
The dismay on Sherlock’s face at seeing John made Moriarty giggle in John’s ear. Clearly he was close by and could see everything that was going on. John himself was not at all inclined to laugh. John automatically repeated everything said through the earpiece and tried not to think about his own voice making threats to his best friend.
Moriarty could not resist appearing himself, of course. His opening line was typically suggestive. “Is that a British Army Browning L9A1 in your pocket,” he smiled nastily and licked his lips, “or are you just pleased to see me?”
“Both,” replied Sherlock, trying not to look rattled by Moriarty’s sudden appearance.
“I have loved this little game of ours. Playing gay for you – did you like the little touch with the underwear? I could be more than playing though, you know.” Moriarty let his gaze roam insolently over Sherlock’s body. “I know your little secret. John told me.”
Sherlock’s eyes flickered to John, though his expression was too well-disciplined to show either shock or dismay.
Moriarty rolled his eyes. “Not literally, of course. He’s too obedient for that , but I scented that you haven’t bound him. From there it is only a short deduction to realize that you must not be interested in Omegas, even as well-trained as this one. And then there’s the fact that you asked me to meet you here at midnight. Mmm, what else did you have in mind apart from handing over the missile plans? Was there another kind of missile you wanted to see? Did you want a closer look at me, in person?” He held his arms out and twirled around. “Eat your heart out.”
He sauntered closer to Sherlock so that John could not longer hear what they were saying. From their body language he and Sherlock were exchanging more flirtatious insults which culminated in Sherlock handing over a memory stick. John presumed it did not actually contain the missile plans. Those had been given back to Mycroft earlier, so this must be a dummy memory stick. John would never know, as Moriarty tossed it carelessly into the pool. Apparently its only use had been as a prop, an excuse for Sherlock and Moriarty to meet.
Then John had an idea. John was a weapon himself now. He was wrapped in enough explosives to take out the whole pool complex. The problem with weapons is that they often have two edges. John did not give himself time to think about it – he hurled himself forward and grabbed Moriarty by the neck. He panted out, “Sherlock! Run!” as he plastered himself and all his explosives against Moriarty’s back – and was horrified to see a laser sight appear on Sherlock’s forehead. John backed off immediately. It appeared Moriarty held all the cards.
Just when it seemed all over, that they were helpless in Moriarty’s hands, inexplicably, he chose to leave. John suddenly felt the full weight of the Semtex and the exhaustion of six hours of unrelieved tension and an unsatisfied heat hit him like a train and his legs trembled. Sherlock had to half support him as he stripped the jacket and explosives off him and threw it as far from both of them as he could manage. He dashed out the door in pursuit of Moriarty leaving John to drop to the floor almost fainting, barely managing to steady himself against the wall of one of the change cubicles.
Sherlock and John had just caught their breath and decided that it was all finished for the night, when Moriarty reappeared. They were caught. No bargaining chips, nothing to tempt him to deal with them, nothing to say, nowhere to go. John’s grasp of military tactics told him there was only one weapon that counted, but would Sherlock come to the same conclusion? John had already offered his life, but how would Sherlock value his own life in the balance?
Sherlock glanced at John as he lowered the aim of the pistol to the explosives on the floor. In that moment John saw it all, almost became the mind reader that people often thought Sherlock. Sherlock played the Great Game, and winning was the only thing that mattered. Sherlock would unhesitatingly sacrifice his life in order to win – and he would also sacrifice John’s. John nodded, half to himself. This was as it should be. They would die together in order to stop Moriarty. For John it was about saving people, just as was when he was a soldier and when he was a doctor. For Sherlock it would only ever be about winning the Game. If dying together was the only togetherness they could have, John would take it.
They were all jolted from their final thoughts by the sound of Moriarty’s phone ringing. He rolled his eyes in mock exasperation that the moment had been interrupted, and answered it. After a short conversation, Moriarty apparently decided he had better things to do that day than die with Sherlock and John. He opted for a strategic retreat, and with a click of his fingers drew his snipers after him, leaving Sherlock and John to their own devices.
With the sudden relief of tension and his rapidly dropping blood pressure John should have known better than to try to stand up. However, instinct overrode his medical knowledge in this instance. All John wanted was to go to Sherlock, his Alpha. He stood, and passed out.
____________________
Sherlock wrestled the semi-conscious John into a cab. By the time they arrived back at the flat, John was awake, but shaking all over with the combination of the adrenaline wearing off and his heat hormones smashing through his body without an outlet. Sherlock had to half-drag half-carry him up the stairs.
“Bathroom or bedroom?” Sherlock panted as they arrived on the first floor landing.
“Bed,” John gasped. Sherlock grunted an affirmative noise and tackled the second set of stairs.
By the time they reached John’s bedroom they were both out of breath, and John was making small whimpering noises that he tried to suppress but couldn’t. Sherlock practically threw him onto his bed where he instantly flipped over onto his back. He started clawing at his zip while frantically wriggling to get his trousers off, getting himself tangled up as he did so.
“Sherlock, help me!” he moaned. “Come here, I need you.” John’s usual cool judgement was long gone, drowned in an overwhelming tide of hormones. If only Sherlock would join him on the bed it would all be right, he just knew it. The heat shimmer rising off him would force Sherlock’s body to cooperate. It had worked on reluctant Alphas before, even Moriarty had felt it. He could make Sherlock feel it too. He held out his arms, silently begging Sherlock to lie down in his embrace.
Sherlock stared at him from the doorway, his gaze full of… compassion? Something more? But then he shook his head slowly.
“It won’t work John,” he said. “I can’t give you what you need.” He left the room, closing the door softly behind himself.
John groaned with despair, and reached over to his bedside table for the contents of his bottom drawer.
|
"So...that is why he brought me..."
I do not remember when was the last time I felt guilt. Probably in my old life.
"Were you....were you going to tell me if you had not..."
"I would like to think so." I muttered. "I....you do not deserve this. You deserve better."
A pained laugh passed her lips. "My father would have thought differently."
"Then he was a fool. Simple as that. You deserve to live, Katerina. You deserve to forge your own life. And you definitely do not deserve to die so that my brother can build his hybrid army."
"Hybrid army?"
"Yes." I sighed. "It is what all of this is about. When my mother sealed my brother's werewolf side, she ensured that we would not sire yet another species. Vampires are one thing, but these hybrids. They will be much more powers. Werewolves with vampire powers. Werewolves are powerful, deadlier than most vampires, but only during a full moon. Outside of it, they are much weaker and more vulnerable. Should Klaus become a Hybrid, he will be able to transform werewolves into hybrids as well, removing their weakness to the moon, giving them control over their transformations and grant them additional vampire powers. Even newly turned hybrids would be a massive threat and they would be under Klaus' full control."
"The ritual. The one to break this curse. What more does it require? It can't be just me."
"He needs to sacrifice a vampire and a werewolf as well as you. The ritual requires a witch to perform it as well as the Moonstone, an artifact my mother used in the binding of the curse. Klaus has the stone. Plenty of witches would accept his gifts in exchange for their aid. A vampire is easily procurable. Werewolves are not as common in England but Klaus has one as well. He could perform it only during the Full moon though. And at the place of birth of the doppelganger."
He saw her mind spinning, still trying to process all that was happening. He embraced her softly, letting her head rest on his shoulder.
"I will not allow him to kill you, do you hear me?" He tried to calm her down, caressing her head. "I have a plan. Two even, just in case the first does not work out. Please, trust me. I will see you safe, one way or another."
She pulled away and I could see the dried tears in her eyes. "I should have known that it would not be so simple. I knew he wanted something from me, but...I hoped it would be my death." She took a moment to calm herself. "What is the plan?"
"I have a witch who can create an elixir, which could revive somebody who has drank it and died within a single day. I will have it made in time for the ritual. It will work and Klaus may want to you to drink it considering my suspicions about the hybrids. I suspect my mother to have put a catch in that curse so that only the blood of the doppelganger would work and without it, the hybrids won't transition."
"You can't be certain of that." She said incredulously. "And what if Klaus does not listen to you?"
"Well, in that case....plan B."
I had found a witch, probably the same witch Elijah had used in canon, to make me such a potion. It was bloody expensive, given how many rare ingredients it had, but it was totally worth it. Even if Klaus refused to allow me to use it, I would still find a way to feed it to her as I knew he actually needed her alive for the transitions. He will be pissed for a while, but then he would better get on his fucking knees and thank me.
After all, Esther's failsafe was bloody brilliant. He can't complete a hybrid's transition without doppelganger blood but if Katherine dies in the ritual, being drained of all her blood, then he can't have more for the hybrids. Even with a broken curse, Klaus would be unable to sire hybrids, which was the whole point of the ritual.
Well done, Esther. Devilishly clever.
To be honest, I just had remembered Klaus' birthplace requirement for the curse-breaking, while I was telling it to Katherine. That meant I had more time on hand, but I would rather not risk it.
And honestly....
If Klaus fucked this up, I would simply take Katherine and leave. Fuck him and the others. I may want to be on good terms with them but after finally finding someone to love.....after five fucking centuries......fuck them.
I told Niklaus my plan for the elixir, showing him the potion I had procured the day before and told him of my suspicions about the transitioning needs of his potential hybrids. And of course, Klaus never fails to disappoint.
"Why do you care whether she lives or dies? Don't tell me you have been stupid enough to fall for."
"She does not deserve to die, you boneheaded fool. More to the point, Katerina surviving the ritual may be the only way you can make your precious hybrids."
I may have underestimated Klaus' descent into asshole-ness, for if I had not I would have predicted that Klaus would take the elixir from my hands and smash it on the floor.
"WHAT THE HELL, NIKLAUS?"
"Mind your tone, brother." He shouted in turn as he pinned me to the wall. "The ritual will happen as I has been planned. And you will not stand in my way. Am I clear?"
I lifted my hands.
Klaus took it as a sign of surrender let go of me, after which I stormed off.
It was a sign of surrender.
I had given up on him.
Time for plan B. Or C really.
We made love the night before I orchestrated her escape. Not sex, or at least not just sex. It was making love. At last, after five hundred years on this Earth and twenty or so years in my last life, I learned the difference. It was soft, needy, passionate, loving....
We melted into each others arms. I made sure to memorize every inch of her flesh as I poured every ounce of love and affection I could right into her.
Among other things.....
It was a night I would never forget. The night I made love to Katherine for the first time.
Yet all good things must come to a halt, when lives are on the line.
"Come with me." Katerina pleaded the day after.
"I will find you as soon as I can, but I need to distract them first."
I knew that after learning of this, Klaus was more than likely to pull out the dagger from Finn and shove it in my chest. And that was if he hadn't found the others as deep down I suspected he had. I had shared as much with Katherine, which was why she knew that we may well be separated for a lot longer.
"We will find each other again." I smiled. "After all, we have an eternity together."
So as not to risk anything, just in case I wanted to kill Klaus in the future, I had turned Katerina into a vampire. She would be of my sireline. And so would all vampires she potentially turns. I had taught her the basics and given her my diary, the one I had been writing since before the Immortality spell. I had told her where to find the Strix, whom I had sent an order to aid Katerina in any way she needs in terms of resources, secret identities and what not. The perks of having a hidden vampire society at my beck and call.
"I know. I just....I was hoping that I wouldn't have to run again."
"You are a survivor, Katerina Petrova. You are formidable. Do not fear the challenges ahead. Relish them and become stronger because of them. I know you will. Farewell, my beloved. We will meet again. I will find you again!"
"I love you, Cyrus. Until we meet again."
"And I you, Katerina. And I you."
I had compelled Trevor and Rose, who I had discovered to be Elijah's cronies and commanded them to see her on the ship I had arranged to take her back to Europe. I dreaded the challenges she had to face, but I knew she would make it.
Meanwhile, I had to handle Klaus' fury.
This ought to be spectacularly dreadful.
And it was.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Klaus roared as he shoved me against the wall. "HOW DARE YOU?"
"I offered you alternatives, dear brother. You should have listened to me."
"Shut up. SHUT UP!" He continued. "I will find her. This I promise you. I will get another doppelganger in time and Katerina will suffer for this."
"If. If you find her. That is not a given, Nik."
"And how long do you think that bitch can hide from me, brother?" He hissed.
"I imagine father dearest has been asking himself the same question." I retorted with a smirk.
"I will go to Bulgaria and wipe out her entire family. And then I will destroy that empire you built. Your magnum opus will crumble to ashes."
"I wouldn't recommend it. During my stint as an emperor, father payed me a visit." That alarmed all three of them. "Have no fear. I told him not where you were, but I did warn him that should I piss you off, which was highly likely, you may feel petty enough to do something like what you just threatened. I imagine father will be keeping an eye for you there. So spare me your empty threats, brother. I am one step ahead of you."
And at the moment, Klaus smirked and revealed the silver dagger, I knew that I had failed on that front. "See, dear siblings of mine." I chuckled. "Whenever Nik gets angry with us, he is perfectly ready to silence us with one of these. I hope you are all aware of what may befall you as well."
"Then you know how I will punish you for this. I will remove this from you when I find her and I will kill that bitch before your very eyes."
I shook my head. "I imagine I will have to wait a lot then." Then I got serious. "I promise you this though, brother. Do this now and I will forever remember it. I have a long memory."
As Klaus shoved the dagger in my heart, a lot of thoughts flashed through my mind.
Hatred....
Spite....
Lust for revenge....
My loathing for my other siblings who stood by and did nothing......
One was at the forefront though.
Katerina.....
|
Wei Wuxian is not having a good day.
The curse is eating him alive. He hasn’t even managed to tell Lan Wangji what he saw in the forest outside Runan. But every time he tries to focus on that strange energy he encountered outside the city, the memory slips away like drifting sand.
The big problem is his improvised medication—instead of controlling the pain of the curse chewing through his meridians and consuming his yang energy, the treatment he made for himself with cobbled-together ingredients has just stopped him from caring about the pain. By itself, that would have been enough to get by. But the medication has also ruined Wei Wuxian’s ability to care about anything serious or requiring focus, so now it's all he can do to pay attention to whatever he’s experiencing in the present moment.
Without the benefit of his back alley recipe, the curse would have rendered him unconscious or nonverbal at this point. Instead, the medication allows him to be awake and able to narrate his increasingly frayed thoughts for the benefit of whatever fool happens to be in the room with him.
Lan Wangji carries—bridal-carries!—Wei Wuxian from the room he’s been staying in to another, bigger room in a different part of the building. Wei Wuxian is too busy marveling over how Lan Wangji can carry him so effortlessly to notice much else. He only distantly registers the lady of the house trailing after them.
(Okay, that’s not true. Wei Wuxian very much notices how Lan Wangji smells: the familiar scent of sandalwood from the jingshi, but also his sweat. Lan Wangji’s sweat smells so good. Wei Wuxian all but crams his face in Lan Wangji’s armpit chasing that smell, crooning in delight at Lan Wangji’s warmth and the faint tremor in his arms this earns him.)
Lan Wangji sets him gently in the middle of the new bed, which is nice of him and all, but Wei Wuxian really wanted to keep being held, okay? He voices this out loud—or tries to—but both Lan Wangji and Jiejie studiously ignore him.
This is outrageous. “Lan Zhaaaaaan,” Wei Wuxian whines. He sits halfway up in bed, reaching for Lan Zhan like a child for a beloved toy.
“Wei Ying should rest,” says Lan Wangji. “I will take care of everything.”
Wei Wuxian can’t control the flush of pleasure Lan Wangji’s words provoke. He feels his face crease into a stupid grin without any conscious input from him, and then his face sticks like that, like his face has decided that smiling at Lan Zhan is the only important thing in the world.
(Maybe it is, though. Wei Wuxian can't think of anything else more urgent or important than smiling at the Second Jade of Lan, who is the most beautiful man in the entire world. In response to Wei Wuxian’s dopey grin, Lan Zhan’s face softens minutely, and that’s when Wei Wuxian’s last three remaining brain cells give up.)
Wei Wuxian loses the plot for a while after that. Lan Wangji and Jiejie talk back and forth, their conversation flowing over him like the tides. At one point, Jiejie asks Lan Wangji what’s actually troubling Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji gets very flustered for some reason—which is to say, the tips of his ears turn pink and he suddenly forgets how to make eye contact with Jiejie.
Jiejie says something in response that startles a small laugh out of Lan Wangji, and that distracts Wei Wuxian so much that he misses the rest of the conversation. After more discussion, Jiejie and Lan Wangji put several cups of bitter medicinal tea in front of Wei Wuxian—he thinks he might hear her say the words “prevent pregnancy," but he's not sure—and then he's bullied into drinking all the tea and eating a bowl of soup before he falls asleep.
His dreams are strange and troubled; the only saving grace is that he forgets each of them as soon as they pass.
* * *
Wei Wuxian awakens some unknown amount of time later to find himself in Lan Wangji’s arms.
Lan Wangji has gotten into the bed with him—or rather, onto it. His eyes are closed, his expression peaceful. He’s sitting in lotus position, Wei Wuxian draped across his lap the way his guqin would normally sit. One of Lan Wangji’s arms wraps around Wei Wuxian’s shoulders, cradling him against Lan Wangji’s chest, while the other hand is pressed to Wei Wuxian’s belly. A warm stream of qi flows into him from Lan Wangji’s hand.
The energy moves through him from that hand, spiraling up his meridians and through his energy body like a cleansing wind. Wei Wuxian lets out a sigh of contentment and is rewarded by Lan Wangji’s golden eyes fluttering open to gaze at him.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmurs. Somehow the warmth of that voice does as much for Wei Wuxian as the flow of energy through his meridians.
“Lan Zhan is so good to me,” Wei Wuxian says. The words sound syrupy in his ears. His whole body feels so much better than it did. Did Lan Wangji ascend to immortality and then use his god-powers to heal Wei Wuxian?
A faint snort brings him back to reality. Lan Wangji is looking at him with the faint crease to the corner of his eyes that is the equivalent of a full-blown grin on any other person—shit, he said that out loud, didn’t he. But Lan Wangji is smiling at him about it! How did Wei Wuxian ever think this man emotionless?
“Wei Ying needs rest,” Lan Wangji says. His voice is gentle, but he’s watching Wei Wuxian intently. The hand against Wei Wuxian’s belly presses down more firmly.
He just. He makes Wei Wuxian feel so much. That anyone would welcome his resurrection the way Lan Wangji has is some kind of miracle. And either the past thirteen years have been very kind to Lan Wangji, or else he was always this hot and Wei Wuxian of the past was just a fucking idiot who couldn’t see what was in front of his own eyes.
“Lan Zhan, you really got so handsome,” he says out loud. “Were you always this good-looking? How are you still a bachelor?” Much to Wei Wuxian’s disappointment, Lan Wangji’s expression does not change. But the tips of his ears turn a sweet pink again, like blushing red roses.
Lan Wangji hums. Another burst of warm energy flows from him into Wei Wuxian’s belly. This time, answering heat blooms in Wei Wuxian’s core, and he exhales shakily, squirming at the ache between his thighs.
All of a sudden, Wei Wuxian is very aware of the fact he’s in only his inner robes—and that Lan Wangji is close, and warm, and large. Before, Wei Wuxian was Lan Wangji’s height or perhaps a bit taller; now, Lan Wangji towers over him. The realization makes Wei Wuxian’s mouth go dry.
“There has been no one worth my time,” Lan Wangji says. It takes Wei Wuxian several moments to realize he’s responding to one of Wei Wuxian’s vapid questions.
Something about this answer hits wrong. It hurts and pleases Wei Wuxian in equal measure, but the why of it is too nebulous and strange, far beyond what he has the capacity for right now. Particularly when he’s too aware of Lan Wangji’s big warm hand pressed against his belly… so close to a different spot crying out for the press of his thick fingers.
“Wei Ying.” Wei Wuxian looks up. Lan Wangji is watching him, brow furrowed. Wei Wuxian realizes the other man must have asked a question.
“Ah, Lan Zhan, I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian says, and flashes his best cheeky grin. “I was too busy thinking about how much I like your hands on me.”
Lan Wangji’s eyes widen; the tips of his ears turn redder still. “Asked if Wei Ying was in pain,” he says. The words come out deep, husky, like he swallowed a bag of rocks when Wei Wuxian wasn’t looking.
“Not anymore,” Wei Wuxian says. It’s true. The pain is gone. In its place is the ravenous need that Wei Wuxian has come to know so well. Whatever Lan Wangji has done—and maybe the medicine Jiejie gave him—it’s working. “M’just warm.” He pauses a moment, considering, then adds, mind utterly disconnected from anything beyond reporting exact truth, “And wet.”
Lan Wangji stares. “Wet.”
Wei Wuxian smiles, huge and dreamy. “So wet, Lan Zhan. If you move your hand down between my thighs, you’ll feel it.”
Lan Wangji stiffens. He averts his eyes as if scandalized, and the hand pressed against Wei Wuxian’s stomach trembles. “Shameless,” he hisses.
“I know,” Wei Wuxian sighs. “So shameless. But I can’t help it, Lan-er-gege! You really just do this to me, you know?” He lets his head loll back, resting it against Lan Wangji’s muscular bicep as his eyes fall shut. “Mmm. I tried to escape Lotus Pier before I could mess everything up too badly, but I was already so out of it that I got turned around and wound up falling in the river.”
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji breathes.
“It was right after you came by looking for me,” Wei Wuxian continues, blithely ignorant of the psychic damage he’s doing to the man trembling against him. “I remember thinking, what would happen if Hanguang-jun found me in such a state?”
“Wei Ying should not say such things,” Lan Wangji bites out.
But Wei Ying is too caught up in his fever-sick daydream. The warmth of Lan Wangji’s hands and body against him mingles with the allure of his fantasy, and his mouth falls open in a heavy sigh, tongue flicking out to lick his lips.
“I wouldn’t be able to stop you from doing whatever you wanted to me in such a state,” he says lazily. “Delirious and soaking wet from the river. You could have just laid me out and done whatever you wanted—”
“Wei Ying, be silent!”
Rude!! Wei Wuxian opens his eyes, a complaint on his lips, but the look on Lan Wangji’s face stills his tongue. Lan Wangji’s eyes are glued to him, burning golden in his handsome face. When their eyes meet, Lan Wangji adds stiffly, “Should not say things he does not mean.”
Ah, really… what is Wei Wuxian supposed to do? Not tease him?
“If the great Hanguang-Jun wants this lowly servant to be silent, he should know he’ll have to shut me up himself,” Wei Wuxian says. He winks at Lan Wangji.
Lan Wangji exhales. Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to say something else ill-advised that he’ll regret later, when shame is a thing he remembers how to have. He’s fully expecting Lan Wangji to cast the silence spell on him and save them both the embarrassment of listening to Wei Wuxian talk.
What he’s not expecting is for Lan Wangji to haul him upright and kiss him.
Wei Wuxian gasps in surprise. Lan Wangji takes the opportunity presented, tongue thrusting into Wei Wuxian’s mouth as the kiss turns immediately filthy. Wei Wuxian groans, his arms coming around Lan Wangji’s shoulders. Without breaking away, Lan Wangji unfolds his long legs and hauls Wei Wuxian around so that he’s sitting astride Lan Wangji’s lap. Now chest-to-chest, Lan Wangji tilts his head to deepen the kiss, restraint utterly abandoned.
Arousal bursts up Wei Wuxian’s spine like fireworks. The low-level arousal that’s been eating at him roars to life, a dragon awoken. Wei Wuxian moans, arching forward against Lan Wangji in wanton invitation, and Lan Wangji responds by growling into Wei Wuxian’s mouth, teeth scraping over Wei Wuxian’s lips.
One of Lan Wangji’s hands comes up, cradling the back of Wei Wuxian’s head, his fingers twisting through Wei Wuxian’s messy hair. The other hand slides down his spine, pressing hard against the small of his back. Wei Wuxian shivers at the possessiveness in that grip, at the raw desire he can feel in Lan Wangji’s kiss.
It makes him feel like Lan Wangji is going to eat him alive.
The thought makes Wei Wuxian groan, rocking his hips shallowly against Lan Wangji’s pelvis. Lan Wangji groans too, hips jerking against Wei Wuxian’s. They grind blindly against each other for several moments before finally finding the right angle, and then all of a sudden Wei Wuxian can feel the hardness of Lan Wangji’s cock through his robes.
He pants out a wet uhhhh, uuuuhhh as he chases after the sensation, grinding his pussy against Lan Wangji’s length like a bitch in heat. He feels like a bitch in heat! His whole body aches, throbbing with the desire to have that thick length thrust up into him, stuffing him full. Lan Wangji feels so big, too; even through the muddle of fabric, his girth has Wei Wuxian salivating.
For several minutes Wei Wuxian gets lost in it: grinding his wet pussy against Lan Wangji’s erection through their robes, rocking down to meet Lan Wangji’s thrusts with his own. Lan Wangji’s hands feel hot enough to brand him as they slide under his robes, palming greedily at bare skin. He gathers great handfuls of Wei Wuxian’s body, gripping hard enough Wei Wuxian is sure he’ll find handprints later: on his hips, on his ass, on his thighs, his shoulders, his back.
But soon it’s no longer enough. Wei Wuxian reels back from their ravenous kissing with an effort. “Lan Zhan,” he whines, and then moans as Lan Wangji chases after him, catching his mouth in another rough kiss. “Lan Zhan—mmmhm—Lan Zhan, p-please, I’m so wet, it’s so s-s-sensitive, hhh, hhaaaaa, please—!”
Lan Wangji growls. He seals his mouth over Wei Wuxian’s, seemingly hellbent on kissing Wei Wuxian until he passes out. One of his hands plunges between their bodies, pulling Wei Wuxian’s flimsy inner robes out of the way until he’s created enough slack to shove his hand between Wei Wuxian’s thighs, cupping Wei Wuxian’s pussy against his huge fingers.
Wei Wuxian gasps into Lan Wangji’s mouth, hips jerking helplessly against the rough pads of his fingertips. Lan Wangji bites his mouth before soothing the bite with his tongue. The angle is bad, but it doesn’t stop them. Lan Wangji rubs his fingertips against Wei Wuxian’s aching sex; the drag against his clit makes him desperate, bucking against Lan Wangji’s fingers in a bid for more friction.
He shuts his eyes, panting against Lan Wangji’s insistent kisses as he tries to grind against those wonderful fingers. But Lan Wangji has other ideas. He flexes his thighs, lifting Wei Wuxian enough to slip his hand deeper between Wei Wuxian’s thighs. He curls his fingers, and as Wei Wuxian sinks down his aching cunt is impaled on two of Lan Wangji’s fingers.
“Lan Zhaaaaan!” Wei Wuxian wails. Lan Wangji’s tongue slides deeper into his mouth, swallowing his words whole. Wei Wuxian instinctively grinds down against Lan Wangji’s fingers, eyes fluttering shut as Lan Wangji works his virgin pussy open with those incredible fingers of his.
Lan Wangji keeps him like that for a little while, letting Wei Wuxian fruitlessly ride his fingers and grind against his palm as Lan Wangji keeps his mouth busy with filthy, drugging kisses. He adds a third finger after a little while; it slides in easily alongside the other two, the stretch against his inner walls delicious but not nearly enough. With his other hand, he plays with Wei Wuxian’s peaked nipples, tweaking them and pinching them meanly as Wei Wuxian sobs and tries to fuck himself on Lan Zhan’s hand.
It’s maddening. It’s simultaneously so good and not nearly enough. “Lan Zhan, Lan-er-gege,” Wei Wuxian whines. “Please, I need more—”
“Mmm,” says Lan Wangji. It’s all the answer Wei Wuxian gets before Lan Wangji pulls his hand out of Wei Wuxian’s pants. Wei Wuxian rears up, outraged, but Lan Wangji takes hold of the inside fabric of Wei Wuxian’s pants and rips them open. Wei Wuxian barely has time to gasp as Lan Wangji’s hands go to his hips, lifting him into the air and then guiding him down with one hand, the other at the fastenings of his own pants, gripping his cock.
His cock. Wei Wuxian gets just a glimpse of it: thick and long, curved up as if in greeting, dripping pearly liquid from the tip. Then that dripping head presses against his slit, and Wei Wuxian’s gasp becomes a cry as Lan Wangji pulls him down onto it, spearing him open with his girth.
“Lan Zhan,” he pants. Wei Wuxian has a split second to register that his sex must finally be done growing, or they wouldn’t be able to do this. Then it’s lost in how enormous Lan Zhan’s cock is inside him. “Ah, ah, you’re so big… my hole hasn’t been used before, Lan Zhan, you’re too big for me—”
At hearing this, Lan Zhan’s pupils dilate, his nostrils flaring. “Wei Ying will take it,” he rumbles. The hands on Wei Wuxian’s hips tighten, digging fingertips into the meat of his ass and thighs. He thrusts up once, burying his cock in Wei Wuxian’s tight cunt, so deep Wei Wuxian can feel Lan Wangji’s balls pressing snug against his ass.
“I can’t,” Wei Wuxian protests. Tears are beading in his eyes from the stretch, from the delicious burn; his whole body is tingling and on fire, nipples sore, kiss-bitten lips aching. Lan Wangji’s cock is so big he feels like he can’t even breathe around its size.
He squirms where he’s held against Lan Wangji’s lap, delighted and appalled in equal measure at how they’re both still in their clothes (except for how Lan Wangji ripped his open! Like a beast!!). “Lan-er-gege is too big!”
“Endure,” Lan Wangji says, and slaps his ass, hard. Wei Wuxian cries out, clenching down hard around Lan Wangji’s cock in surprise, and Lan Wangji groans. “Wei Ying asked for more, so he will take it all.”
“Lan Zhan, Lan-er-gege, Lan-er-gongzi—” Wei Wuxian is whimpering, trembling as Lan Wangji grips his hips and lifts him up before dropping Wei Wuxian onto his cock again, thrusting up into him at the same time. Wei Wuxian throws his head back with another wail, arching his spine prettily for the man who’s so undone him. Lan Wangji’s cock presses into him, forcing him open, filling him so full he swears he can feel it in the back of his throat.
“Ride it,” Lan Wangji orders. Wei Wuxian’s hips start to move of their own accord, and he sobs, bracing his hands on Lan Wangji’s shoulders as he tries to find a rhythm. Lan Wangji’s hands on his hips help him, as does the way Lan Wangji thrusts up to meet him every time, spearing him open again and again.
Lan Wangji is a man possessed. His eyes are so dilated that the black has almost swallowed the gold of his irises; he’s panting mouth-open, hips snapping up against Wei Wuxian. Gone is the Second Jade of Lan; in his place is a demon whose only desire appears to be to fuck Wei Wuxian stupid.
He gets there fast. Soon Wei Wuxian is moaning open-mouthed as he bounces on Lan Wangji’s dick. The fat cock spearing into him drives all other thoughts out of his head, save for how good it feels to be fucked by Lan Wangji, how badly he wants Lan Wangji to fill him up with come, with his seed, his babies.
His babies. The idea fills Wei Wuxian’s head like hot air, making him dizzy with sudden want. Abruptly he wants nothing more than to be used and bred until he’s pregnant with Lan Wangji’s get, waddling around with too-large robes swaddling his round belly.
“Lan-er-gege, ah, ah, b-be careful—ah!!—or else you might get me pregnant,” he pants; Lan Wangji growls and thrusts up harshly, fingers digging crescent-moon shapes into Wei Wuxian’s hips. Wei Wuxian’s eyes roll in his head, babbling uselessly as he’s fucked. “Would you like that? Ngh! Want to—fill me up with all your essence until I’m round and fat, ah, a-ahhh, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, you—you’ll have to take responsibility—”
Lan Wangji’s hips snap up hard, and he groans, stiffening. Wei Wuxian’s rhythm stutters and his eyes go wide at the feel of warmth flooding his cunt, followed almost instantly by an accompanying flood of warm qi through his meridians. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathes.
Lan Wangji’s furious pace slows; he pulls Wei Wuxian close, breathing harshly against his hair. Wei Wuxian whines, brain still addled by the desire for orgasm.
He’s close. He’s so close. Wei Wuxian grinds down against Lan Wangji’s still-hard cock, eyes hooding as he chases the building pressure in his gut, the friction against just the right spot—
—Only for Lan Wangji to straighten and then haul Wei Wuxian off his lap, pulling his cock out as he tumbles Wei Wuxian to the bed.
“Lan Zhan!” Outraged, Wei Wuxian sits up on one elbow, slapping the bed with his other hand. Lan Wangji looks at him, eyes wide and slightly glassy. His usual poise is missing; he yaws to one side on the bed as if drunk, like fucking Wei Wuxian rocked him so hard he’s temporarily lost higher motor function. It makes him look dazed and somehow young.
No! He can’t get out of this by being cute! Wei Wuxian will not stand for it!! “Lan-er-gege, I’m not done yet!” Wei Wuxian lets a petulant whine creep into his voice. “I need more, you can’t be done already, why did you pull out?”
Lan Wangji swallows. Wei Wuxian watches how the muscles in his throat bob, his hands gripping into fists. “Wei Ying is still sick,” he says after a moment. “Needs to conserve his yang energy.”
That’s…
So unfair!!
A vague memory comes back to him: doing this with Jiang Cheng, doing this over and over with his shidi to get him enough yang energy to survive. But they didn’t… Wei Ying didn’t get to come then, either. Which is just so unfair! He’s the one going through the curse, isn’t he?
“You’re as bad as my shidi,” Wei Wuxian says hotly. He flops back on the bed, crossing his arms like a petulant child. He misses the way Lan Wangji’s expression sharpens, how his jaw tightens with a sudden access of emotion. “Both of you are bullies! Am I just a toy to you? Just because I don’t have a dick anymore doesn’t mean I don’t want to come, too!”
Wei Wuxian would never normally be quite this shameless. But right now he’s so out of it, addled with both the medication and the effects of the curse, that he can’t hold anything in his head past the actual words falling out of his mouth.
He doesn’t think about the wisdom of saying such things to Lan Wangji. He doesn’t think about the storm of emotion that sleeping with two men in as many weeks might provoke in him or others. He doesn’t spare a thought for how Jiang Cheng might feel when he inevitably finds out Wei Wuxian has taken refuge in the arms of another man after asking so much of Jiang Cheng.
All that matters to him right now is craven want. Desire crawls up his spine like creeping ivy, the fire in his guts burning hotter with every passing moment. He needs to be fucked again. He needs to come himself. He needs more come inside him, more yang energy, more touch, more kisses, more warm body pressed against him. He needs.
So occupied is he that doesn’t see how Lan Wangji draws himself up, taking a deep breath as he stares at Wei Wuxian with blazing golden eyes, sliding carefully off the bed and coming around to one side, a dragon preparing for its assault.
Wei Wuxian kicks his heels against the bed like a child throwing a temper tantrum. “Hanguang-jun, Hanguang-jun, is this really how you treat your bed partners?? Chase after your pleasure and not let them find their own? How could you—ahh, what!?”
He yelps as Lan Wangji grabs his shoulders and hauls him towards the edge of the bed, his head dangling off the side. Lan Zhan is standing next to the bed, Lan Zhan is bringing a leg up, bracing a foot on the edge of the mattress. Lan Zhan’s thick, hard cock is looming directly over his face, and Wei Wuxian is dizzy and disoriented and still so needy.
“Lan Zhan, what are you doing?! Wh—”
Lan Wangji grips the bottom half of Wei Wuxian’s face, pressing both thumbs into his jaw to force his mouth open. A moment later, a hot, salty weight slides past Wei Wuxian’s spread lips into his mouth. Lan Wangji sinks his cock into Wei Wuxian’s throat with a groan, and suddenly Wei Wuxian can’t think about anything else.
Lan Wangji’s cock is huge. It already felt huge when Wei Wuxian was in the man’s lap, riding him, but having it filling his throat is wholly different. Wei Wuxian sucked Jiang Cheng’s cock, too, but by then he was so delirious that he doesn’t remember it very well, and he’s sure it wasn’t like this, with Lan Wangji pushing him down and making him take it.
“Will make Wei Ying be silent, as requested,” Lan Wangji grits out. “Will give Wei Ying everything he asked for.”
So saying, he starts to shallowly thrust into Wei Wuxian’s mouth. The angle is such that it opens his throat, making it easier for him to slide deeper. Wei Wuxian groans, eyes watering as his jaw starts to ache from being forced open at this angle. The cock in his mouth is hot, velvety against his tongue and the insides of his cheeks. It’s also so large that it’s hard to breathe past. Wei Wuxian can already feel himself starting to drool around its girth.
Lan Wangji’s thighs bracket Wei Wuxian’s face, caging him in so that his scent and warmth envelop Wei Wuxian’s senses. Lan Wangji’s hand stays at Wei Wuxian’s jaw, forcing him to keep his mouth open and just take it. With every thrust, he pushes a little deeper, and every time he sinks deeper his balls brush against Wei Wuxian’s nose, smothering him with their weight and musky scent.
Wei Wuxian’s messy cunt throbs, aching over how empty it is in comparison. Wei Wuxian wishes vaguely that he could be full at both ends, could have a cock sunk to the hilt down his throat and in his hole at the same time. He shuts his eyes, slipping into the daydream of being held down and used like a toy, of being fucked in every hole until he’s loose and leaking and boneless.
Lan Wangji pulls almost out, then sinks in to the hilt in one smooth push. His balls press against Wei Wuxian’s nose, blocking his airway. Wei Wuxian can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but lie there and swallow Lan Wangji down.
He’s in heaven. It’s everything he wants and more.
Wei Wuxian’s face is a wet mess: drool and tears and snot leak from him like a broken faucet, and his pussy aches with want every time Lan Wangji’s cock slides home. A rough noise comes from close by; it takes Wei Wuxian a moment to realize the noise is coming from him. He’s moaning—has been for a while, he thinks.
He must alarm Lan Wangji because the other man starts to pull back, and Wei Wuxian cries out a wordless protest. He grabs the tops of Lan Wangji’s thighs, trying to keep him where he is as he swallows desperately around the cock half-out of his mouth. Lan Wangji groans, stilling for a moment as Wei Wuxian suckles at his cock, eyes falling half-shut in satisfaction.
Slowly, Lan Wangji sinks in again—all the way in, sheathing himself in Wei Wuxian’s throat in one smooth glide. This time, Wei Wuxian gags a little, eyes tearing up more as Lan Wangji fills his mouth, his nose, his throat. A moment later, Wei Wuxian feels a warm hand wrap around his throat, and he tries to swallow against it, shocked stupid from the thrill of having Lan Wangji control him like this.
“Wei Ying is doing so well,” Lan Wangji murmurs. He strokes Wei Wuxian’s throat with his big hand, fingers carefully feeling all the spots where Wei Wuxian is stretched around his cock, choking on him. “He can have as much yang essence as he needs. Will give you all of it.”
Satisfied that he’s opened Wei Wuxian’s throat enough to take him, Lan Wangji starts to thrust steadily, fucking Wei Wuxian’s face in earnest. Wei Wuxian shuts his eyes and opens his mouth as wide as it’ll go, sinking into it as Lan Wangji uses him like a cocksleeve. His head is floating, disconnected, overwhelmed by the sensations running through his body. All he can do is drool and take it, try to breathe around the girth choking his throat.
He loses track of time. He doesn’t know how long Lan Wangji fucks his throat like this, but it feels like ages; there’s nothing but Lan Wangji’s deep, steady thrusts as he makes Wei Wuxian into his toy, a warm wet hole to fuck, just like Wei Wuxian wanted. At some point, his thrusts start to speed up, his breath turning harsher. Lan Wangji’s hands grip Wei Wuxian’s head again, holding him still as he brutally fucks his face.
Finally, he groans, low and rough. He buries his cock deep in Wei Wuxian’s throat, balls hot and tight against Wei Wuxian’s nose. The salt-bitter taste of his seed floods Wei Wuxian’s mouth, and he gags, coughing and choking helplessly as Lan Wangji stays pressed inside him, forcing him to swallow, to take it all.
And there’s so much of it. Wei Wuxian feels like he’s drowning, a thrill running through his body as come escapes his lips, spurts out his nose. Distantly, he can feel the accompanying rush of qi through his system: another flood of energy to accompany Lan Wangji’s spend, pouring through him like a cleansing wind.
Slowly, slowly, Lan Wangji pulls out. Wei Wuxian coughs, trembling and breathless as he tries to recover. Lan Wangji helps him sit up. Wei Wuxian finds himself tucked against Lan Wangji’s chest, panting and winded. Lan Wangji’s touch on his face is tender, and Wei Wuxian shuts his eyes, leaning into his hand.
“Wei Ying is doing so well for me,” Lan Wangji murmurs. He kisses each of Wei Wuxian’s eyes. Wei Wuxian makes a wet, wordless noise, made stupid with sex and longing. He tries to snuggle into Lan Wangji’s chest and distantly realizes that Lan Wangji isn’t wearing his robes anymore.
He must be disgusting, he thinks vaguely; his face is covered in drool and tears and snot, come leaking from his nose and the corner of his mouth. But Lan Wangji doesn’t seem to mind. He brushes some hair out of Wei Wuxian’s eye, and then his finger travels down—wiping at the come leaking from his nose, and… rubbing it into the skin of his cheek, his jaw.
Wei Wuxian shivers. He’s a mess, and Lan Wangji made him this way. Lan Wangji likes it this way, he thinks. Wei Wuxian tries to think about that but finds that he lacks the power to contemplate it.
“Wei Ying needs more energy,” Lan Wangji says in his ear. His voice is low and heavy with meaning. Wei Wuxian nods quickly, his eyes still shut. The empty pit behind his stomach throbs in answer to Lan Wangji’s statement, still so ravenous.
Lan Wangji kisses his mouth, and it’s wet, demanding. Wei Wuxian leans into his touch, tilts his head back and kisses just as needfully. “I will give Wei Ying what he needs,” Lan Wangji says into his mouth.
And he does.
Lan Wangji divests him of the rest of his robes, puts him on his back, and then folds him like a doll: hands under Wei Wuxian’s knees as he bends him in half, splaying his thighs open in a most wanton manner. Lan Wangji lets out a guttural groan as he sinks his cock into Wei Wuxian’s pussy in one smooth slide, balls pressing against his ass.
Wei Wuxian stares up at him, glassy-eyed and delirious with want. Lan Wangji’s hair is falling out of its meticulous updo; pieces of it flutter down to frame his sweaty face. He’s staring at Wei Wuxian with an intensity usually reserved for commanding his guqin mid-battle. He’s perfect. He’s gorgeous. “Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathes, in awe; how can anyone this perfect be human?
“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji rumbles by way of response. He leans down to claim Wei Wuxian’s mouth in another deep, possessive kiss, biting at Wei Wuxian’s lips and thrusting his tongue into his mouth the way his cock is thrusting into his cunt. Wei Wuxian can only kiss back, moaning in desperation for the man pinning him down, holding him fast.
It’s the last moment of respite Wei Wuxian gets for some time. Lan Wangji pulls back, adjusting his grip, and then his hips snap against Wei Wuxian’s. Wei Wuxian cries out as Lan Wangji sets up a rough, punishing rhythm, spearing his cock deep into Wei Wuxian with every thrust.
Wei Wuxian floats in and out of awareness. Already thinly attached, his consciousness now untethers wholly from the passing of moments. He gets lost in the feeling of Lan Wangji inside him, on top of him, kissing him, fucking him. Coming in him.
Wei Wuxian is not entirely certain, but—but it seems like Lan Wangji shouldn’t have that much come. He’s as bad as Jiang Cheng, he thinks dizzily. Where did they get it all? He still hasn’t even come once yet, it’s so unfair!
Lan Wangji fucks him bent in half on the bed for what feels like an hour; he comes in him twice, hot pulses that fill Wei Wuxian up deep inside, and each time he just keeps going, the rhythm of his hips faltering only for a moment. After the third time, he pulls out, ignoring Wei Wuxian’s whimpering and rolling him onto his stomach before pulling his ass in the air and pushing his knees apart to make room for himself. Then he slides back in with a wet squelch, hands gripping Wei Wuxian’s hips with bruising force.
His cock feels bigger from this angle, feels like it’s pushing deeper. Wei Wuxian still doesn’t know how he can fit such a thing inside himself—Lan Wangji’s cock stuffs him so full he feels like he can’t talk, can’t think. He never wants to be empty again.
Wei Wuxian loses track of how many more times Lan Wangji comes inside him after that. At one point Lan Wangji reaches forward and grabs Wei Wuxian’s wrists, pulling them behind him to grip them like reins as he continues to fuck Wei Wuxian roughly from behind. The position forces Wei Wuxian’s back to arch, high, breathless cries fucked from his throat with every punishing thrust.
Lan Wangji stuffs Wei Wuxian full of his come, fucking him and filling him until Wei Wuxian swears he can feel his newly-grown womb swollen with seed. Come is leaking out of his hole around Lan Wangji’s cock, displaced with every thrust; it drips down his thighs, smearing the insides of his legs.
It’s not just come, either: Lan Wangji pours shocking amounts of qi into him. More yang energy accompanies every orgasm until Wei Wuxian feels like a cup overflowing, high out of his mind from how much spiritual energy he’s been given.
Wei Wuxian snaps back to reality as Lan Wangji thrusts home particularly hard. He groans as he empties another load into Wei Wuxian, adding to the amount already swelling his belly. Lan Wangji lowers Wei Wuxian to the bed and helps him roll onto his back again; this time, he has Wei Wuxian hold his knees up and back before settling onto the bed between them.
Wei Wuxian peers at him, dizzy with arousal and the exertion of being fucked out of his mind. Lan Wangji looks back, eyes dark with intent. Slowly, he pushes two fingers into Wei Wuxian’s sore cunt, scooping out his own seed and watching it drip from his fingertips onto Wei Wuxian’s puffy pink lips.
Wei Wuxian whimpers. “Lan Zhan,” he says hoarsely, “you—that’s—”
“Wei Ying needs as much as possible,” Lan Wangji says. His deep voice is maddeningly calm. He scoops up another blob of come—there’s so much, Wei Wuxian is a mess—and leans up over Wei Wuxian, pressing his come-smeared fingers into Wei Wuxian’s mouth. “None should go to waste.”
Wei Wuxian opens his mouth to—protest, or complain, or something, but Lan Wangji simply pushes his fingers past Wei Wuxian’s lips, feeding him his own come straight out of Wei Wuxian’s pussy. Wei Wuxian is so shocked that he closes his mouth around those fingers instinctively and starts to suck. Lan Wangji’s eyes darken in satisfaction, pushing his fingers deeper, ensuring Wei Wuxian clears off every last drop. Only once they’re clean does he take his fingers back.
From there, he continues a similar process: wiping up more of his come from Wei Wuxian’s sore cunt and feeding it to him, or— worse, or maybe better—smearing it into Wei Wuxian’s skin. He massages his come into Wei Wuxian’s face, his throat, his hair, until he’s sticky with sweat and semen and gods know what else.
The sight seems to do something to Lan Wangji. He kneels up, stroking his renewed erection as he stares down at Wei Wuxian, positioning himself directly above him. God, his cock is so delicious-looking. Wei Wuxian has no idea how he can still get it up after fucking Wei Wuxian so many times, but Wei Wuxian is no less hungry to have it inside him than when they started.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian begins, intent on getting that cock back in his mouth, but Lan Wangji interrupts him with, “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” Wei Wuxian gulps, then does as he’s told, opening his mouth wide and sticking out his tongue—
—And then Lan Wangji groans, stroking himself once, twice, before striping long hot ropes of come all over Wei Wuxian’s face and open mouth. Some of it gets on his throat and chest, as well; some of it goes in his hair. Wei Wuxian gasps, eyes wide in shock. “L-Lan Zhan!!”
“Wei Ying should take it all,” Lan Wangji growls. “Wei Ying is mine.” He’s almost as hoarse as Wei Wuxian, and Wei Wuxian has been throat-fucked so hard he almost blacked out. Lan Wangji drops down, grabbing the back of Wei Wuxian’s head and kissing him hard, come-smeared lips and all. Wei Wuxian moans helplessly into his mouth, kissing back with all he has.
Lan Wangji then proceeds to map Wei Wuxian’s chest with his mouth and hands, biting and licking at what feels like every inch of flesh. After Wei Wuxian’s whining grows to a certain pitch—Lan Zhan, inside, I need it, I’m so empty!—Lan Wangji pushes three fingers into his aching cunt, slowly fucking him with his fingers as he leaves his marks all over the rest of Wei Wuxian’s body.
Wei Wuxian is squirming, weak with shock and arousal. Lan Zhan came all over him! Lan Zhan is licking up his own come from Wei Wuxian’s skin! Lan Zhan… covers him in so many bite-marks that Wei Wuxian looks like he’s developed a pox—he even hauls Wei Wuxian’s legs up so he can bite at Wei Wuxian’s ass and inner thighs, leaving marks there too.
They build to enough of a head that Lan Wangji pushes Wei Wuxian onto his side and hauls his leg up to slide into him from behind. Lan Wangji rocks into Wei Wuxian, shallow and shifting, until his cock slides in just the right way to make Wei Wuxian moan breathlessly. Only then does Lan Wangji start his rhythm again, thrusting steadily into Wei Wuxian at that exact same angle.
They reach orgasm almost simultaneously—Wei Wuxian’s crashes over him like a clap of thunder, deafening him to the world as he gasps and arches against Lan Wangji. Only when he collapses to the bed does he register Lan Wangji curling shakily around him, burying his face in Wei Wuxian’s dirty hair.
If Wei Wuxian weren’t so dazed between medication and his curse, he would swear he could feel dampness on the back of his neck where Lan Wangji’s face presses against his skin.
* * * * *
Wei Wuxian awakens to find he’s being rolled gently onto his back. A warm wet towel rubs gently over his belly, accompanied by an equally gentle hand at his hip. Wei Wuxian’s sleep-stuck eyes peel open to behold Lan Wangji bent over him on the bed, carefully cleaning the worst of their exertions off him.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian slurs. Lan Wangji kisses his eyes and goes back to what he’s doing.
The next thing he knows, he’s being carried again. Wei Wuxian nuzzles sleepily into Lan Wangji’s chest and collarbone, sliding his arms around the other man’s neck in an unselfconscious bid for affection. Lan Wangji slows, tipping his face down to meet Wei Wuxian’s, kissing over Wei Wuxian’s nose to his lips.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian murmurs.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Zhan’s voice is so soft; he says Wei Wuxian’s name with the reverence of a petitioner in prayer before their god. The tenderness in it undoes him. Wei Wuxian shudders, hiding his face in Lan Wangji’s elegant collarbone.
Lan Wangji starts walking again, and in a few short moments they’ve reached the bathing area. The bathtub is already full of steaming water, Wei Wuxian notes with some surprise; when did Lan Wangji sneak away to do that? He must have been asleep longer than he realized.
Lan Wangji helps him into the tub—Wei Wuxian’s arms and legs don’t seem to want to work—and then, to Wei Wuxian’s great delight, Lan Wangji gets in the tub with him, settling Wei Wuxian in front of him between his legs. The water is perfect: just this side of scalding, his skin already turning pink.
Wei Wuxian hums contently, starting to lean back against Lan Wangji’s chest, but a hand on his shoulder stops him. “Eyes shut,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian does as he’s told, letting out a shivery little sigh as hot water is poured over his head and sluices down his neck and shoulders.
Lan Wangji pours several more cups of water over Wei Wuxian, thoroughly soaking his head and neck. Then strong fingers are in his hair, working soap into its thick tangle, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp.
Wei Wuxian makes a soft, happy noise, all but going boneless at the attention. Another day and time, he might protest being babied like this, but right now it’s the most pleasant thing in the world. Lan Wangji’s chest is a firm weight against his back, his thighs bracketing Wei Wuxian’s in a way that makes him feel safe and secure.
So he doesn’t fight it. He sits in the soaking hot tub and lets Lan Wangji move him this way and that, cleaning him methodically from head to toe. At one point, Wei Wuxian lets his head loll back against Lan Wangji’s shoulder like a rag doll, watching Lan Zhan diligently washing his belly and arms.
Lan Wangji skips only one area—Wei Wuxian’s groin—and Wei Wuxian wonders at the omission until Lan Wangji returns to it at last and slips two fingers into Wei Wuxian’s sore cunt without any preamble at all.
Wei Wuxian gasps, arching up like a startled cat, but Lan Wangji holds him fast with his other arm tight around Wei Wuxian’s waist. His hoarse “Lan Zhan” is cut off by Lan Wangji’s mouth on his, kissing him slow and thorough.
Lan Wangji fingers him to another orgasm right there in the tub. He takes his time, kissing him and stroking him until Wei Wuxian shakes apart on his fingers, gasping into Lan Wangji’s mouth. Only then does Lan Wangji release him.
He leans back against the tub, pulling Wei Wuxian back to settle against his chest. Wei Wuxian slumps bonelessly against Lan Wangji’s chest, still panting slightly from the force of his orgasm. His whole body feels hot, thick, like he’s been turned to molten gold.
“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s voice in his ear is soft.
God, he’s so… so good. Wei Wuxian keeps his eyes shut and hums by way of response. He hears Lan Wangji take a deep breath—feels the way his chest expands against Wei Wuxian’s back—but is still not prepared for the next words out of his mouth.
“Come back to Gusu with me,” Lan Wangji says. Wei Wuxian’s heart stumbles in his chest. “Please. You don’t… Wei Ying does not have to return to Lotus Pier. Let me take care of you.”
At the mention of Lotus Pier, Wei Wuxian’s stomach twists over on itself. All the thoughts of Jiang Cheng he’d been keeping at bay by sheer virtue of arousal and medicine flood back in, dousing all the warmth of the bath and the pampering.
Wei Wuxian swallows, hard. All of a sudden he feels very dirty, despite the good forty minutes of attentive cleansing.
“Ah… Lan Zhan, it isn’t—it wasn’t like that.” He tries for nonchalant, but his voice comes out hoarse and shaky. He shivers, hunching in on himself, and Lan Wangji’s arms tighten around him.
“Wei Ying ran from Jiang Wanyin.” Lan Wangji’s voice is low but determined; Wei Wuxian has to bite his lip against the burst of affection that tone of voice brings. “Wei Ying will be safe in Gusu.”
Wei Wuxian sighs. “But who will keep Hanguang-jun safe from me?”
“Wei Ying—”
“I didn’t run from Jiang Cheng because I was afraid of him,” Wei Wuxian says tiredly. “I ran away so I didn’t ruin his life a second time.”
Maybe it’s because he’s so exhausted, or maybe it’s because of some lingering effect of the drugs, but saying those words out loud isn’t as terrible as Wei Wuxian always thought they would be. Lan Wangji is silent, but his arms have gone even tighter around Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian can almost hear the stubborn clench of his jaw.
He smiles despite himself, but it slips from his face almost immediately. “In my last life, I wound up a corpse-ruling demon who destroyed all my friends’ lives. This time I’m turning into a huli jing who eats men…” Wei Wuxian shakes his head. “Lan Zhan should run while he can, I’ll only ruin your life too.”
“Never.” Lan Wangji kisses the soft skin just behind Wei Wuxian’s ear. His arms stay lashed around Wei Wuxian’s waist, grounding as the deep roots of a tree.
Wei Wuxian shuts his eyes. Some soap must have gotten into them, he thinks; they’re watering something fierce.
|
1880 – The Hundred Guineas Club, London
“Lord, Angelique!” Thomas panted, clutching at the divan beneath him. “You– you are damned–”
The man calling himself Angelique pressed his hand over Thomas’s mouth, stifling him. “No more words,” he growled, as his body moved over Thomas’s with a fervour and heat that made Thomas keen in both pleasure and pain.
When he spent himself, Angelique stepped back at once and uttered a low sound of disgust. “Get out.”
Thomas scrambled up off the low bed, flushing, no doubt as red as his hair, his body still crying out for release. “I beg your pardon.”
Angelique didn’t look repelled, but neither did he look as once who had taken his pleasure ought to. He rubbed at his brow and waved his other hand towards the door. “Off with you.”
Thomas stared at him, then down at himself. “You’re done with me?” he demanded, offended.
Angelique’s pale eyes ran over him, then the man stepped closer. For one who looked so cherubic, there was something sinister in the curve of his lip. “My dear boy,” he murmured, “I could play with you until you screamed for mercy.” He brought his lips close. “I could torment you until you begged and pleaded for release…”
Thomas shivered. There was no warmth in those words, no pleasure. It sounded more threat than teasing promise.
Angelique’s lips drew back from unnaturally sharp teeth. “Get. Out.”
Thomas backed away from him, skirting around the edge of the room to the door that led out into the rest of the club. There would be other men, he thought, shaking. Ones who were not so… so… whatever it was that Angelique was.
At the door, he glanced back.
Angelique had sunk to sit on the divan, looking infinitely tired and ancient. Thomas hesitated, wondering if he should offer some kind word or comfort, but it was as if a chill was rippling outwards, turning the room to an ice box and he retreated, pulling the door closed behind him.
____________________________________
1884 – Belgium
The fight over the continent was heating up. The damned Portuguese were trying to claim land rights by way of outdated and irrelevant treaties, while the French had snuck in under the guise of exploration and planted a flag.
With a little nudging, Bismarck and his associates at the forthcoming Berlin gathering ought to provide the support needed to push matters back in Belgium’s favour.
Leopold scowled down at the map. “I will have it.”
“Of course you will.” His attendant was pacing in ever narrowing circles on the far side of the room, his pale hair tipped with gold in the gaslight. There was something predatory in the way he moved, the curl of his back, the flash of his eyes. “You and your… philanthropic missions.”
It struck Leopold that he could not recall when Monsieur Raphael had come into his service or how the man had come to be so knowledgeable of Leopold’s own affairs. “You sound doubtful of my success.”
“Ha!” Raphael ran a hand along the mantle. “Let’s not mince words. We both know there is nothing humanitarian about your intentions in the Congo basin.”
And yet, Leopold thought, the other members of the International African Association had been convinced of it easily enough. “You think you know so much, Monsieur? You think so little of my plans?”
Raphael made a disparaging sound. “I know you have no intention of ceasing the slave trade. But isn’t it useful? They’ll let you go in and be so helpful, won’t they? And won’t it be marvellous, they’ll say. What a generous and gracious King. And all the while, you’re hoarding up land and resources for yourself.”
Leopold eyed him. Some of his people knew of his intentions, but none would speak so boldly of them. “And what do you think of it all?”
Raphael whipped around, reminding Leopold of naught so much but a serpent. “What does it matter what I think?” he snarled, stalking across the room towards the map table. “You can do what you damned well please, you stupid man.”
“How dare you address me so,” Leopold snapped back furiously.
Raphael, his hands braced on the edge of the table, raised his eyes from the map. They were solid blue, no white at all, the pupils slit like a serpent’s. He smiled, but it was unlike a smile in every particular but the shape. Alarming enough to make him back away.
“You know what you want to do, your Majesty,” he hissed, leaning out over the table. “What the Hell do you need me for? Permission?”
Leopold stared at him, then down at the map. “I will have it,” he repeated. “By whatever means I must use.”
Monsieur Raphael’s smile widened, his teeth like needlepoints. “I’m sure you will,” he growled, the lamplight flickering. He extended one hand and, with a single finger, overturned the figure of Leopold on the map. “And we will be waiting when it’s done.”
“We?” Leopold echoed.
Serpent eyes stared at him. “Oh, you’ll know.”
And between one blink and another, it was as if… no one had ever been there at all.
_______________________________________
1892 - London
“Savage little ruffians, aren’t they?”
Oscar shifted on the couch, trying very much not to pay heed to the man seated beside him, but the man it seemed was having none of it. Against the ragged feigned grandeur of the room, his neighbour was a diamond among rocks, his clothing of exquisite cut, the very richness of the fabric a lush field of deep golden brown.
“The one on the left.” The heat of his breath sent gooseflesh rising upon Oscar’s skin. “I imagine he would turn you on your belly and have you spent in moments.”
For all that he wished the man to be silent, it was as if he had reached into Oscar’s mind and plucked the very thoughts dancing tantalisingly there. Bosie knew of his covert desires and had found a rather handsome gaggle of young men, strong and broad of shoulder, narrow of waist. Handsome creatures, but untamed by conversation and literature and utterly primitive in the most delicious ways.
It was… unseemly.
A step too far and he knew it well. It was one matter to seek the pleasures of the flesh with a like-minded man, but to buy their favours was something less innocent and edifying. He would finish his drink, thank them for their patience and be on his way.
Oscar took a fortifying sip from his goblet, the wine heady and strong. “If you do not mind, sir, I am only here at the behest of a friend. I shall be leaving shortly.”
The man’s arm unfurled along the back of the couch like a serpent uncoiling along the branch of a sycamore, the weight of it heavy with sin and promise. “We both know that’s not true, don’t we, my dear?”
Abruptly, a hand broad and warm pressed against the front of Oscar’s breeches.
“Sir!” Oscar snarled, though his hips canted rebelliously into the firmness of the touch.
“Tell me to stop,” the man murmured against his ear. “Tell me that this is utterly unsuitable. Tell me you would not want me to have you ready and bring one of those … lovely creatures over to tend you with his lips.” His tongue curled into Oscar’s ear, wicked as the snake of Eden, ripe fruit held within reach. “All you need to do is tell me.”
Would that he were a stronger man. Would that he had not held such wishes at arm’s length for decades of misery. Would that he had not grasped the man’s hand and urged it betwixt fabric and flesh, urging him to take hold and do as he pleased.
“You want them, don’t you?” the man whispered, his hand far rougher than any gentleman’s ought to have been, knowing and firm and utterly relentless upon him.
“Sir…” Oscar gasped, the wine glass shaking in his hand.
“Call one of them over, my dear,” his… friend purred, as though offering a fine delicacy in the most elegant of salons and not selling the flesh of young men for shillings in a room so gloomy and grey that no gentleman should ever have set foot there. “The dark one. Marcus, I believe.” Hot breath, like sulphur, poisonous and smothering, whispered on his skin. “He has a marvellous mouth, my dear. Utterly wondrous.”
“Marcus!”
The lad on the far side of the room leapt up like a wildcat, striding across the room, plump lips spread in a smile.
The glass slid from Oscar’s fingers, shattering into a thousand pieces, scattering like stars on the dark wooden floor beside the couch. Wordlessly – for what place had words on lips like that? – he motioned to the front of his breeches.
The boy knelt as a pauper to a king and his neighbour slipped his wicked hand free as the boy nimbly unfastened the buttons of Oscar’s breeches. Lord, his purse would weight every touch if he allowed it. He ought to refuse, to demur, to, to, to…
“I–” His words seemed utterly spent, tangled and useless.
His neighbour chuckled, catching the boy’s chin in his hand. The boy’s dark eyes fluttered closed with greedy pleasure as the man’s thumb pressed between his lips, rounding them out beautifully, his tongue curling and lapping furiously.
Oh.
“Watch him, my dear,” the gentlemanly neighbour murmured withdrawing his hand. His other hand stroked through Oscar’s hair as the boy lowered his head and closed those plump pink lips around him. Oscar pressed his feet to the floor, his hips moving wantonly, but he could not look, not when there was no feeling, no passion, no…
“Oh, but of course there is,” his neighbour said softly. “Look, my dear. See how much he enjoys it.”
The boy’s dark eyes met his, limpid bright pools, as his head bobbed and dived, eager as a kingfisher for a fish. His hands moved too, rough and firm, well-practised and shamefully skilled. It took hardly any time at all.
Mutely, Oscar reached out, catching a heavy silken hank of dark hair. The boy grinned at him, leaning up into him, and his mouth was as eager to please in every particular, salted yet sweet, and twice as hungry.
____________________________________
1900 – Paris
The wind rattled the windows in their frames, the shrill of it like a blade sinking into the throbbing cavity of his skull. Oscar turned his head against the pillow, trying to muffle the sound as best he could, but even that small motion felt like the efforts of Atlas.
The room was cold again, though he could see the fire was burning. Strange, then how cold he felt. Numbed at the hands and feet, the chill spreading inwards from his extremities. So very bitter and painful.
He closed his eyes for a time and the lancing pain behind his eyes eased.
Beside him, the edge of the mattress dipped under the weight of another. He lifted his weighted lids, expecting dearest Robbie, but finding another face, a terrible and familiar face, close to his side.
The fair man with the fleet of beautiful brutes, the ones who had spilled his secrets as easily as they made him spill his seed.
In another room, in another lifetime, he would have risen in a rage, cutting the man to ribbons with words. In another lifetime, the bone-deep cold would not have been sapping what little strength he had, leaving him little more than a restless shell, too weak and drawn to move.
“Sir,” he breathed.
The man turned his fair head to look at him and the grief and despair carved in the furrows of his face spoke more eloquently than words could. “Oscar.” A broad hand found one of his, closing about it, and some little warmth spread through him, dulling the icy ache in his limbs. “You– I–” The man’s hand tightened on his, the words catching in his throat like a piece of stale bread. “This ought not to have happened, dear fellow.”
No, Oscar thought, unable to draw his eyes from the man. Gone was the ardent sensualist, all louche manners and predatory lips. He seemed like another man entirely, hollowed out and spent. “You… incited…” he breathed.
The man bowed his head. “I did,” he said in an unhappy breath. “I– indulgence should not be so condemned. Desire– wanting someone– having someone who wants– who will give you all–” His voice wavered. “What is so terrible in it?”
Oscar’s eyes welled with unsolicited tears. “Nothing,” he whispered, clasping the fellow’s hand. “Nothing at all.”
The man made a low sound like a wounded animal, folding over their joined hands. What had he lost, Oscar wondered, to bring him so low?
“You should have been happy,” the man said, so soft Oscar could scarcely hear him. “To have what you desired, to be with the one you chose, to… enjoy your life. You ought to have been happy.”
“Life,” Oscar murmured, “is not so generous.”
The man lifted his face to stare at him. “Life is nothing, my dear fellow. Life did not do this to you. They did this to you. The ones who believe themselves better and right and good.” He pulled Oscar’s hand to his breast, holding it there. “Would that I could save you.”
“A charming thought.” Oscar’s head fell back heavily against the pillow. “Alas, it comes too late.”
“Too late,” the man echoed. All at once, his other hand was beneath Oscar’s head, cradling him gently and his eyes as blue as polished turquoise filled Oscar’s world, blazing like the lightning-torn sky in a storm. “Then have what they will not allow you…”
It was as if his mind was flooded with visions, of rainbows and men embracing other men openly, of a marriage ceremony with no bride, of banners with his words held proudly by people defiant and glorious and free.
Tears streaked hotly down his face. “What is–?”
The man drew him close and radiant wings, ephemeral and shining, wrapped around him, driving the pain and the cold away. “The world to come, my dear,” he said softly. “You will be remembered and you will be remembered well.”
_______________________________________
1914 – Vienna
“You should go, your Highness.”
Franz Ferdinand looked up from the letter in his hand to the mirror and the man standing behind him, clipping his hair. “Your opinion is not required.”
The man – Samuel, was it? – bowed his head mildly. “Your pardon, your Highness.”
The Archduke ignored him, turning his attention back to the letter in his hand. It was one of the many threats that had been lodged against anyone of the Habsburg house who dared to visit Sarajevo. Not unfamiliar. They received them often enough from the provinces.
He set it down, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair and glowering at it.
His Uncle’s people were all up in arms, insisting it was a serious threat to the crown. The Governor of Sarajevo insisted it was nothing. All blustering and shouting and none of them saying anything useful at all.
“Your Highness’s wife will be disappointed, I think.”
That made him turn. “What did you say?”
Samuel widened peculiar blue eyes, clutching his hands before his chest. “Nothing, your Highness.” He licked pale pink lips and hesitantly said, “They want you to go as a show of military strength, do they not?”
How a barber had come by such knowledge, Franz Ferdinand did not know. Servants, he supposed. They saw everything and no doubt reported it on to one another, whispering and scurrying like mice through the walls of the Hofburg.
“And what say you of my wife?”
Samuel blinked guilelessly at him. “But… surely your Highness knows that his wife would be able to accompany him?”
Franz Ferdinand stared at the man.
At every turn, protocol and propriety stymied him, preventing Sophie from standing by his side where she ought to have been. But of course, if he was not there on Imperial matters, but on military matters, then as a highly-ranked officer, he had the right to take his wife with him if he so desired.
He turned back, riffling through the papers, drawing out the order of events. The date was so close to the anniversary of their wedding, he noticed. They could make a day of it, defy those who would refuse Sophie her rightful place. For once, he could proudly walk by the side of the one he had chosen to love.
Behind him, he barely even noticed the door closing as the barber slipped away.
________________________________
1917 – Passchendaele
The rain was torrenting down, cold and miserable.
Albert shifted sideways to allow another fellow to squeeze into the narrow space that remained under the frail gantry. It was not much in the way of shelter, but it was better than standing underneath the pelting sky.
“The orders have come. We’re going over the top.”
Albert glanced over, chaffing his hands together to warm them, his stomach churning.
It was the order he had been dreading for days and weeks now. He had somehow, mercifully, avoided the charge in the past, but the Germans were pressing back and it was becoming more and more vital to reclaim Ypres.
“When?” he asked.
“Soon as the rain lets up,” the messenger said. “Be ready for the signal.” Then he slipped back out into the rain, his footsteps muffled by the mud.
As soon as the rain stops.
It was a damned awful thing to know that the weather turning would be the moment of your death.
“Damn,” he said quietly, squeezing his hands together so hard that they ached.
There was a chance, though very slim, that he might survive. Fellows had come back from the charge before, though often they were in a terrible state. No Man’s land was still littered with those who could not be retrieved. It was – if he was lucky, if God had mercy – not a death sentence.
If things went badly…
“Does anyone have paper?” he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’d rather like to write a letter.”
An unhappy chap in the corner raised his head. “A letter? What good is a letter going to do?” he demanded bitterly. “The moment you put your head over the edge, that’s the end of things. A bit of paper is hardly going to save you.”
“Sir!” One of the other man snapped.
Albert studied the man in the corner. Not someone he had seen before, but he looked as ground down and utterly miserable as the rest of them. “If I can give my wife some little comfort for the future, then I shall,” he replied. “If I’m lucky, I shan’t have to send it, but if not, then I’d be happy to know she had some little word of assurance.”
The man stared at him. He had very peculiar eyes.
“For your wife,” he said slowly. “D’you know that the love of a wife was what got us all here? How damned stupid, to think that it matters at all! It shouldn’t have come to this!” He shook his head. “It’s all for nothing. Why waste your time?”
The poor bugger looked as though he were about to burst into floods of tears.
“All the same,” Albert said, “I would rather know she had a moment of happiness, no matter how little, if I can grant it.”
“Even if you’ll never see her again?”
“Especially then,” Albert said stoutly. “I prefer to leave her with my affections than with dust and ashes.”
The man stared at him for a long time, then reached inside his uniform and pulled out a sheaf of miraculously pristine paper. He hesitated, then took one sheet for himself, and handed the rest to Albert. Other men were watching, listening, and looking. What manner of man would he be if he didn’t offer them the same chance?
For a time, the only sound in the dugout were the scratches of pens to paper over the rattle of the rain on the metal overhead. Gradually, the pens trailed to silence and, little by little, so too did the rain.
The fair man in the corner rose, walking to the entrance of the dugout and staring out.
“You shouldn’t go,” he said. “None of you.”
“We must,” one chap said, rising and reaching for his helmet.
One by one, they rose, picking up their gear. Albert hastily finished scratching his letter, then folded it up tightly and tucked it snugly into the depths of his uniform. He bent to pick up his helmet, then paused. A piece of paper lay where it had fallen, tramped on by boots. He picked it up, glancing about for its owner.
It was only a couple of lines, scrawled in a shaking hand.
Dearest Angel. I miss you. I’m sorry. I asked too much of you.
There was no name, no sign of who had written it.
“Are you going?” The fair man was standing in the entrance, watching him. “You don’t have to.”
Albert smiled sadly at him. “I rather think I do, old boy.” He joined the man in the entrance, looking out at the thinning clouds overhead. “I suppose they’ll get our letters home for us, won’t they?”
“You can take it home yourself,” the man said.
Albert looked out at the trench and the wire and in the distance, he could hear the whistles and shouts and the crack of gunfire. “God willing, yes.” He patted the man’s shoulder. “Best we get under way.”
“Yes,” the man said sadly, walking out after him. “Under way.”
_________________________________
1941 – Soho
Much was made of animals retreating to their holes to lick their wounds.
Aziraphale could quite understand the appeal.
For close upon a decade, he had not left his shop. In fact, he had barely moved at all, spent and drained and unable to ignore the chasm he had crafted between himself and the one person who might have cared about him.
No, there was no room for illusions. There was no ‘might’.
Crowley was created to care and care, he did. Too much, one might say, a perfect counterpoint to a demon who could not care less. Cared so much, in fact, that he would rather risk their lives than kill.
In hindsight, Aziraphale felt like a fool.
Of course Crowley – good, kind, merciful Crowley – would never want any part in a plan that would leave blood on his hands. He was not a creature made for guile and brutality. Of course he would never have acceded to a plan to kill Aziraphale’s fellow demons.
Alas, by the time that thought sank in, Aziraphale had spent decades wreaking merry Hell across the continent, urging people to indulge their every whim and enjoy themselves while the world spun ever closer to oblivion. Outrage, spite and indignation were a powerful motivator.
And of course, because the Almighty’s humour was of a bitter kind, his every intervention had turned so terribly, terribly wrong. Deaths, disgrace, brutality. Even the war – the first of two now, it seemed – had been credited to him. Commendations and celebrations and awe had followed and he had smiled and smiled, then retreated to his shop and drunk himself into a stupor.
A little credit went a long way.
They had stopped requesting reports. No doubt, they thought this latest carnage was his doing as well. Which meant he no longer had to leave the shop, so he… didn’t. He ignored the knocks at the door. He certainly ignored the pulsing presence of an angel in a café across the road.
Lord, if Crowley recoiled so hard from him at the thought of killing a demon, the thought of his expression when he heard of Aziraphale’s dealings since their last encounter… so many people. So many of his beloved humans. Not intentionally, but that hardly mattered, did it?
So Aziraphale sat. Dust settled on him like a mantle. He had no need to move. He had no desire to move. Perhaps, like the myths of old, if he remained where he was, he would turn at last to stone.
For several days, he had watched in silence as letters slipped through the door and a touch of a miracle followed them, turning them to ash before they touched the floor.
Crowley, approaching but not. Hesitating.
If a letter fell, if it was left intact, then and only then would he move.
It seemed the thought was enough to change reality, for only two days later, another letter dropped through the door, the same size and shape as those that had fallen into ash only days before.
Aziraphale’s body ached as he unfolded from the chair, dust sloughing off him. He crossed the floor and bent, snatching up the letter. He had never seen Crowley’s hand, but the bold precise letters seemed unlike him.
He frowned, breaking the seal. Crowley had been the one to destroy them, which begged the question as to why. The answer was clear enough in the scent of the letter. It reeked of malice and ill-intent, though it was nothing more than an order for books from a gentleman called Harmony and a request for a meeting over some more specialised items.
And yet Crowley had been intervening with them?
Aziraphale turned the paper over in his hands, considering it. It was entirely possible that his angel was trying to keep him from dangerous sorts, but Crowley was… well, frankly rather hopeless when it came to such things. A cell in a French prison came acutely to mind.
He folded the letter up, tempted to reduce it to ash with its brethren, but…
But, damn it all, Crowley was interfering in matters that likely didn’t concern him and no doubt had no idea of the kind of people he was toying with. The very least I can do, Aziraphale thought, is make some discreet inquiries of these men. See if I can’t find out what’s what.
He went to his desk, dismissing the dust with a snap of his fingers, and opened out a fresh page of paper. His ink had dried up, but refilled at a look, and he sat down and wrote a polite, moderate response to the mysterious Mr. Harmony, suggesting that a meeting would be an agreeable possibility.
The angel need never know.
|
“If you die, I’m going kill you.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want that, so I’ll try not to.”
Tony tries and fails to ignore the lump in his throat. “Steve...”
“Hey, hey,” Steve moves closer, tipping Tony’s chin up until their eyes meet. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Tony lies. “I’m all good, big guy.” From the corner of his eye, he can see Barnes, Romanoff, and Barton waiting by the elevators-- in their uniforms, they look more intimidating than ever-- and so he steps back even though all he wants to do is press his chest to the blond’s. There’s an all-too familiar wave of panic threatening to take over him that, on any other day-- on any other mission-- he’d brush off with an easy smile and a sharp quip.
But this is HYDRA.
This is his team... Steve... going dark for God knows how long.
“Tony--”
“I’m good, I’m fine,” he nods, patting Steve’s shoulder with a practiced grin. “Go get ‘em, tiger, yeah?”
“You bet we will,” Steve says seriously, and before Tony can say anything else, pulls him back in to kiss his temple. “I’m going to miss you, Shellhead,” he whispers into Tony’s hair.
“Back atcha, Winghead,” is all Tony can say. He closes his eyes, breathes in the clean, surprisingly woodsy scent of Steve’s uniform, and then moves away. “Now chop chop. I’ve got a company to run and you’re just taking up all my time-- really, Rogers, you’re a menace.”
“Wait till I tell Miss Potts that.”
“Empty threats, Cap,” Tony replies, and then holds his breath as Steve deftly swings his shield onto his back and walks to the rest of the team as they shuffle into the main elevator. “Go kick ass,” he tells Romanoff. “Take names,” he says to Barnes, “and you...” he grins at Barton, “just go.”
The last thing he sees before the doors close is Barton sticking his tongue out at him, and Steve’s bright, amused blue eyes as he laughs.
And then, just like that, he’s alone.
- - - - -
He finds the first note later that night.
Pepper’d arrived only minutes after the team had left-- with a thick folder and a determined gleam in her eye that’d had Tony sighing in defeat before she’d even said a word-- and swept him off to SI for, in her words, a much needed “business day”.
Now, hours later, Tony’s decided not to go down without a fight next time.
The tower feels empty in a way he immediately hates, even though his brain reminds him it’s anything but-- Sam, Wanda, Bruce, and Rhodey are still around, and he knows he’ll see them all at some point of the day. He fires off a quick pizza order to JARVIS-- not his usual, because he only eats that with Steve-- as he reaches his workshop, and it doesn’t take long for him to get lost in the numbers, the calculations and the equations, which is probably why he almost misses the bright blue sticky note clinging to DUM-E.
It’s not until after he comes back in with a pizza box on his arm that he spots it, and he almost drops his food when he recognizes the handwriting-- neat, slightly slanted, but undoubtedly elegant.
Steve.
Tony feels his heart skip one beat, then another, but he reaches out and takes the note with a steady hand.
Hiya, Shellhead!
Please don’t forget to eat dinner, okay? There’s still some leftover Spaghetti in the refrigerator, but the choice is yours.
I miss you already,
Steve :)
P.S. If this is still sticking to Dummy when you find it, give him a high five from me!
“Meatball,” Tony mutters when he looks up from the note, but he can feel the smile on his face when he gives DUM-E’s claw a pat.
He doesn’t throw the note away.
- - - - -
Tony puts it off as a one time thing, but it’s not even a whole day before he finds another-- this one, stuck to his bathroom mirror.
If you’re:
Just waking up-- good morning! Take a shower, brush your teeth, go SAVE THE WORLD! :)
Goin’ to bed-- good night. Take a shower, brush your teeth, and GET SOME SLEEP? Please?
I miss you,
Steve
It warms Tony’s chest just as much as the first note did, and when he puts it in his pocket as he leaves his room, he feels something close to anticipation.
- - - - -
The notes keep coming.
The days go by, one after the other, and Tony runs his side of the world-- SI business, SHIELD business, Avengers business, everything-- with a familiar ease that manages to keep the worry and longing to a bearable degree. He ends up eating dinner with the team more often than not, surprisingly, and falls into bed only when his body decides it’s not willing to pull through for him anymore.
And through it all, Steve fucking Rogers never fails to stay far from his head.
Damn him, Tony thinks fondly, as he finds yet another bright blue sticky tacked on to one of his suits.
Remember to rest every once in a while, Tony. And remember that we appreciate EVERYTHING you do.
I miss you,
Steve :)
But as hard as it is to believe, those aren’t his favorites.
Because as the days turn to weeks and Steve’s mission keeps them away, Tony starts finding other kinds of notes that leave his cheeks burning and his heart racing:
I like the way you ramble in Italian when you’re frustrated.
I miss you,
Steve
- - -
One of my favorite things to do is watch you play with the bots.
I miss you,
Steve
- - -
You were a hero long before you were Iron Man.
I miss you.
- - -
I miss home. I miss you.
Steve
Tony keeps them all, and has to breathe through the longing every single one of them brings.
- - - - -
"I thought I'd find you here."
It takes Tony an embarrassingly long amount of time to realize who the voice he's just heard belongs to, but once he does, it takes everything in him not to scramble out from underneath the top half of his Iron Man suit. Instead, he takes a breath to try to calm the sudden pounding of his heart. "What, did you want me to be waiting at the door?"
"No, even if it did take me longer to see ya."
Tony smiles up at the wrangled piece of metal above him before sliding out, and then--
"Hi.” The words falls from his lips like a sigh, soft and shy and so fucking relieved, it's almost pathetic.
"Hiya back,” Steve smiles, exactly like he did eleven weeks ago. He's wearing his stealth suit, hair slightly matted with sweat and what looks like dirt, but he's still the most beautiful thing Tony's ever seen.
"When, uh, when'd you get here?”
"About an hour ago,” Steve replies, and Tony's surprised to see his fingers fiddling with his cowl.
"You debrief?”
"No. I had more important things to do first.”
"Oh," is all Tony can say, cheeks burning like they only ever seem to do when Steve's involved.
"I missed you,” Steve tells him, and just like that, Tony feels his body relax.
"I know,” he says. “You never let me forget it."
Steve's smile grows into Tony's favorite grin. "So you got 'em, huh?"
"All fifty seven of them, you sap. I don't know how I put up with you."
"Well, I've got one more," Steve reaches into a belt pocket and takes out a rumpled, slightly faded blue sticky note.
"Steve, you don’t...” Tony shakes his head, but the blonde just holds out his hand, and Tony takes the paper quickly to hide his trembling fingers.
I’m only home when I’m with you.
“I missed you too, y’know,” he rasps, looking back up to meet those blue, blue eyes, and when Steve pulls him into his arms, Tony feels happier than he has in days.
|
George, surprisingly, does reappear to Dream.
The next time he does, after their first encounter on Saturday, was on Monday morning, as Dream was getting ready, begrudgingly, to head to work. George had left Dream to wallow alone for the entirety of Sunday, and Dream wasn’t sure whether or not he was grateful.
Though, maybe he had been left alone since he had started his Sunday by snorting heroin, which had left him with a lovely nosebleed. And if that was the case, Dream had to agree with what he had told George the day before, about his shit job at being a guardian angel. If he was supposed to help stop his addiction, Dream had to wonder where he had been.
He doesn’t dare question him, though, when George reappears the morning after.
Conversation begins light, Dream’s anger having seemingly washed away from their last meeting. He supposes it was because George hadn’t decided to take something of his, and scold him like he was a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
But just as Dream is getting dressed, George asks something of genuine curiosity, however unwarranted and not exactly appropriate
to
ask in the first place.
“I thought you were only able to inject heroin,” he says. “Why not do that? Wouldn’t your high just come faster?”
Dream shrugs, buttoning up his shirt with haste. He didn’t like the way that his ribs poked out from under his skin. “I’m afraid of needles,” he admits lightly, simply. He doesn’t feel like elaborating any more than that. He didn’t want to tell George that there was way more to it than just a phobia.
George seems satisfied with the response anyways, not pushing any further.
“You’re not gonna eat anything?” George asks later, just as Dream is about to leave for work.
“See, George, the thing about time is that it exists for normal people,” Dream replies, growing annoyed. It hadn’t taken very long for that to happen. “I slept in. Bus comes too soon to stop now. Oh well.”
“That’s not very healthy,” George chides, as if his words would have any sort of effect on Dream. George did that often.
Dream barks out a laugh, just before he opens his door. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s something else that I do that’s much less healthy than not eating,” he says. “I’ll see you later. Or not. Whichever.”
Dream sees George again on his first smoke break.
“You know, nicotine doesn’t quite tame the soul like everything else,” Dream says, before George is able to say anything himself. “Helps to curb the cravings, though.”
“It’s a wonder you haven’t contracted any kind of cancer yet,” George says. Dream senses an undertone of sarcasm, but he doesn’t mind. In all honesty, Dream himself was just as curious about that. Though, maybe he had—he refused to see a doctor even if he probably should from time to time. The hospital visit was an exception, as he’d ended up there without his consent.
Dream hums in agreement. He takes a drag of the cigarette, tapping the ash to the ground as he exhales. “Wouldn’t you know about that? With your “divine intervention”, or whatever it was.”
George shakes his head. “I, personally, don’t know anything about something like that. I’m just meant to be an influence, more than anything.”
“Then why now, of all the times I could’ve used the guidance, huh?” Dream asks. He takes one last drag before flicking the cigarette butt on the ground, crushing it beneath his foot. He looks to George for the answer to his question.
“I told you, it’s complicated,” George says, a repeat of his response from a few days before. “And I’ve always
been
there, just not visible to you. Your near-death experience is what created the bridge from your world to mine. It works like that for everyone who needs their guardian angel.”
“And the call?” Dream inquires.
“Same thing. I was able to…
materialize,
because of it. Though, really, I do have the ability to do that every once in a while anyways, but not exactly like that night,” George explains. “Like I said, it’s—”
“Complicated,” Dream finishes. “I know. You’ve mentioned it.”
Dream trudges back into the office, leaving George behind. He supposes the explanation makes sense, at least in some regard. George was looking to be less and less like a hallucination, which was… comforting?—
comforting
to know that he wasn’t completely out of his mind yet.
Emphasis on
yet.
The rest of the workday passes like the wind. Though his headache still pounds at his skull, Dream doesn’t feel as if his body was eating away at him from the inside out. A much better experience than what had occurred Friday. Ultimately, though, he was still looking forward to getting high once he had arrived home.
George is home to greet him, annoyingly so. Dream pushes past him, shutting his door behind him.
“What the fuck do you want now?” Dream grumbles. He tosses his keys on the counter and loosens his tie, though not as desperately as he had Friday—it was routine. What wasn’t routine was George’s hovering, as if he were supervising Dream’s every move—which, really, he sort of was.
“Well aren’t you just a ray of sunshine,” George deadpans. He folds his arms over his chest, with that same
stupid
expression of dissatisfaction on his face. Dream sort of wants to punch it, thinking it might make him feel better, but he resists. George would probably do that weird teleporting thing he had done the other day, anyways.
“Not what I asked,” Dream says instead, turning away from George. “What part of the word “angel” applies to you anyways? Aren’t you supposed to be nice or something?”
“I don’t
need
to be anything,” George says, as if it were that obvious. As if Dream cared. “And it’s not like you’d listen to me if I was. Not that you listen to me as is.”
“Yeah, because you’re not my
mother,”
Dream snaps. He pulls a hand through his hair to push it out of his face as he rummages for the silver case he was searching for. George waits by, awfully still, silent, and statuesque. It’s rather unnerving.
Dream suddenly pauses. “You took it again, didn’t you?” He asks George. He doesn’t specify what he means, as he’s certain George knows exactly what he’s referring to.
His suspicions are confirmed when George’s shoulders go lax in defeat, and as if a magician making something appear from nothing, George produces the silver case and dumps it on the counter. “Hoped you wouldn’t notice,” he mutters miserably.
Dream can’t help but laugh. “How naive are you? To think that an addict wouldn’t notice some of his stash is missing? Christ.” Dream shakes his head, snatching up the silver case. Upon opening it, he decided that it was
really
about time he called his dealer.
“Dream, I—”
“No, none of that!” Dream exclaims irritably, whirling around to face George. He thinks his face might be red, flushed with new anger towards the angel. “No…
acting
like you know me, alright? Sure, maybe you’ve heard some of the things I’ve said, or seen some of the things I’ve done, but you don’t know
me.
So don’t fucking pretend like you do. You are
not
allowed to just
waltz
into my life and think you can fix it with a little friendly… whatever it is that you’re trying to do. Got that?”
Dream closes and sets the case down, a tad forcefully as to break the silence that followed his outburst. He clenches his jaw in frustration, diverting his gaze from George, bracing his arms on the counter. Dream takes a deep, unsteady breath in, trying to calm himself down. He never
liked
to lash out, but it wasn’t often there was someone else to be mad at. His fingers drum an anxious beat on the linoleum.
A quiet room with someone else in it felt far different than the usual
lonely
silence Dream was engulfed in.
“You didn’t happen to hide anything else, did you?” Dream asks, his voice raspy, barely above a whisper. He had decided to forgo the weed, at least for now. It was only meant to be a starting place, anyways.
George huffs, before he drops a baggie of beige powder—Dream’s heroin—on the counter, as well as the cocaine that had nearly killed Dream. Or, at least, the fentanyl it had been laced with had. Dream could care less about the latter being kept hidden from him. Dream utters a reluctant thanks to George.
“Fine, then, Dream.” George sighs. “I won’t pretend to be your friend. I won’t act like I know you. Fine. I can do that, and I can continue to do that until I wouldn’t have to pretend anymore. Got
that?”
Dream just grunts, rolls his eyes, and waves a dismissive gesture in George’s general direction. He had other priorities as of that moment. He couldn’t give less of a shit about George’s endeavours—Dream knew he could be a particularly difficult individual when it came to getting close to someone, especially nowadays. No matter if George was ever-present, the angel wasn’t going to have any fewer hardships. He was no exception. Dream had no interest in getting to know him. He doubted he ever would.
Dream’s back is turned on George as his fishes for his wallet, digging for his credit card. “You haven’t happened to see any of those empty CD cases I keep laying around, have—oh.”
George is gone when Dream finally turns around. Which, unfortunately, leaves his question unanswered, but the nuisance and obstacle that was George was no longer physically in the room, leaving Dream without a conscience, just how he liked it.
The few CD cases are in a clean little stack in his bedroom, at the foot of his bed.
Dream clears off a space on his untidied dresser for one of the cases, carefully pouring some of his heroin on the hard plastic. He uses his card to separate it into two neat, accessible lines, before taking a bill he had also removed from his wallet, rolling it tight. His inhale is sharp, strong. Both lines are gone in seconds, burning his nostril and down his throat, but the feeling that follows more than makes up for it.
It isn’t long before he feels the slow drip of blood from his nose. Dream wipes it away just before it reaches his lips, though instead of doing the sensible thing of finding a tissue, he opts to suck it off his finger, just as blood continues to ooze from his right nostril. It’s the start of a great night.
Alone.
He drinks and smokes until it’s early Tuesday morning, and George is never there to stop him and his self-destructive behaviour. Not even as he’s puking into the toilet bowl at two in the morning. Dream has to tie his hair up to keep it out of his face as he groans weakly into the porcelain.
He really should cut it soon.
Dream brushes his teeth twice to get rid of the putrid taste of vomit that stuck to his tongue and teeth, but even as he considers squeezing more toothpaste onto his toothbrush, he fears not even a third time would be enough. He wasn’t sure who he was fooling, though—it wasn’t ever enough. He should know that from
plenty
of experience.
Too much,
he might even argue.
He drags his feet on his way to bed, and ends up lying in a starfish position on his back, staring up at the ceiling, unable to find the will to sleep. Dream knows he should try, knows he
should
be sleeping as he had work in the morning, but he simply
can’t.
Not that this was rare, but he was starting to get sick of it. The bags under his eyes grew more pronounced as the days passed by.
George is sitting in his kitchen when he wanders out of his room in the morning, and Dream supposes this would become routine, as much as he didn’t wish to accept it so.
He supposes he’d have to get used to it, at least until he could figure out how to get rid of George. Then he could set his mind at ease, and for good.
|
When Blue went to ground, Shiro and the Malkordan military followed. They were lucky enough to be in a position to spot her as she suddenly stopped her seemingly random passes over the city, then turned almost a complete one-eighty in the other direction and took off over the horizon. Shiro knew what it meant, and he was already popping to his feet inside the airborne troop carrier he was riding and yelling into the comms before she completed her turn. "Follow the Blue Lion! Follow her now!"
The carrier ship turned with gratifying swiftness, fast enough that Shiro had to reach out and grab the side of the open door to brace himself. And they were off, rocketing over the Malkordan landscape. The military presence in the air was relatively small, just three carriers and a couple of attack ships, but if Shiro looked down he could see the ground vehicles following behind.
Alkaric really had come through, and an objective part of Shiro could ackowledge that the force that had been assembled to help him retrieve his men was pretty impressive for the very small amount of time afforded to put it together. They had about fifty soldiers, grouped into six-person squads Malkordans called "knives," plus some support personnel and equipment. Pidge was on the ground in a tech van, hopefully having the time of her life playing with the communications setup, even while she and Shiro were both burning up with need to find their teammates.
Of course, having a lion of Voltron suddenly appear above the capitol city, flying back and forth in a frantic search for her missing pilot, might have put a fire under the rears of the Malkordan military command. Just at a guess. Shiro hadn't listened to a lot of the civilian chatter while they were putting the coalition force together, but he knew there was plenty of alarm out there. An official of some sort had made a public announcement that Blue was an allied ship here for manuevers, but it was a pretty thin story, and Shiro doubted that many had believed it.
But it was all worth it if she took them to Keith and Lance and Hunk. Shiro moved to face the forward windshield, the blue lion far in the distance ahead. She was faster than the Malkordan troop carriers, though they were no slouches in the speed department. Over the comms, Pidge announced that she had a fix on Blue's destination, and the coordinates were being fed to the other vehicles.
Shiro looked to the captain who shared the carrier with him, a grizzled and competent-seeming Malkordan named Franred. The captain looked back at him and gave him a grim nod. "I know those coordinates," he told Shiro over comms. The wind of their flying meant that they couldn't talk without headsets. "It's a new base that isn't fully stocked and manned yet, slated for opening in a couple of arnans. The rebels chose well, hiding there. They would have been able to steal equipment, as well as bring in their own without raising a lot of suspicion."
Shiro nodded. It was a good story. Plausible.
Whatever. He didn't care about the specifics right now. He just wanted his teammates back. They could sort out the rest later: who was lying, who was at fault, whether an alliance with Malkord was still valid or desirable or even possible anymore after this fiasco.
The new base was far beyond the city outskirts, out in the countryside in a plot of land surrounded by forest. By the time they arrived, Blue had landed in the cleared ground between a couple of hangars. She was pounding on the earth like a cat trying to get at a mousehole, continually rising on her back legs, then coming down with all her weight on her front paws. Her nose was pointed at the ground the entire time, back arced like a wild animal in flight-or-fight mode. She had already made a sizeable hole, dirt and grass scattered around the crater of her continuous impacts. Shiro had no doubt at all that Lance was directly beneath her, though what distance down he couldn't guess.
"How deep underground does the base extend?" he asked Franred.
Franred frowned. "It's been too long since I've reviewed the blueprints, but it's deep. Supposed to be a research facility as well as a military base, so quite a few labs for weapon-testing, that sort of thing. Keeping that underground means less risk to the civilian population."
Shiro frowned. Nuclear weapons? Radiation? What had his boys been exposed to down there? He said nothing about that, not sure if the terms would even translate. They didn't have time for a discussion of semantics.
Below them, Blue stopped her fox-like pouncing on the ground. She crouched down on all fours, head lowered to the ruined dirt. The sudden stillness was disconcerting. What was she doing? Shiro knew she hadn't given up.
The rebels, or whoever they were, were starting to boil out of one of the hangars like ants from a nest, shooting weapons at Blue in an attempt to drive her off. There were maybe twenty of them, and all they had were hand weapons, no threat to Blue's armor even without her particle barrier raised. She seemed to be ignoring them completely, unconcerned by such piffling enemies, but Shiro frowned. They would have to clear those guys out before they could get into the base and search for Hunk and Keith and Lance. Another waste of precious time.
Franred was already coordinating the attack over the comms, but Shiro was having trouble paying much attention. All he could think about was getting in there, breaking into that building, and finding his boys. By coming out now, the enemies had shown him which building they were using, so he knew where to go, and Blue's position told him even more. He would cut through anyone who stood in his path, that was all. His right arm was already starting to glow, and the Malkordan soldier nearest him jerked back in alarm. Shiro did not apologize, but he did hold his arm out from his body, fist clenched and ready.
They landed. Shiro was moving before the carrier touched down. He jumped from the open door and let his jetpack slow the last descent so he didn't spatter on the pavement. Then he was running, shield activated in front him, not so much out of a sense of self-preservation as the knowledge that Hunk and Lance and Keith would be very upset if he was injured coming to their rescue. They were all too self-sacrificing for their own good.
The Malkordan squad he had landed with was too far behind to keep pace, and he had no desire to slow down for them. Pidge's van wasn't there yet, but a corner of his mind was aware of her position and distance, too. He would not lose track of another teammate, not for a moment.
The rebels were firing on him, having pulled back from their attack on Blue. Shiro's shield took a few hits, but it held. Behind him, the military provided covering fire. If they really wanted to hurt Voltron, they could shoot him in the back right now. Shiro was leaving himself completely open to them. Maybe they had earned some modicum of trust from him after all. Or maybe he just didn't care.
Shouting. Firing. A battlefield was different than the arena, but it felt the same, too. Shiro had only one purpose here, and he would pursue it to the ends of the universe. Those rebels who had not already been killed by military fire fell back to the hangar. Shiro reached their front rank and cut through with ease. He dropped two, maybe three fighters on his first pass, and then he was through and still running, looking for a door to take him downward.
The hangar was almost empty, since the base wasn't yet in use. It was big enough to house several of the dirigible-like ships the Malkordans used for surveillance, as well as entire squadrons of fighter planes or starfighters. The firing of weapons echoed hollowly in the enormous space, and Shiro's head swiveled around, looking for any landmarks to guide him.
All he saw were a couple of ground vehicles, which... Yes, those looked very much like the vehicles that had taken Shiro's people away from him in that security footage. He turned toward them on first sight, running full-out to the area where they were parked. And there in a concrete structure against the wall of the hangar... A door. It had to lead downward. It had to.
Behind him, the military had fully engaged with the rebels. Shiro spared a glance back, saw people being cut down all over the field of engagement, and looked forward again. No one was shooting at him for the moment, which was all he needed. He focused on the door.
And the door burst outward, blown off its hinges by some incredible force. Shiro stumbled to a halt, brought up short in surprise. Then something began to emerge. No, someone. Three someones.
His boys. They were preceded by some kind of thick, clear shield that seemed to be moving independently, no supports that Shiro could see. After the shield moved beyond the door, it expanded to the sides and curved back, protecting the three young men who moved into the hangar after it. Hunk and Lance and Keith. They were...
Quiznak, they looked rough. Hunk and Lance were shirtless, their pajama pants torn and filthy, and their skin was painted with blood and bruises. Keith was wearing his jacket, but underneath that was just a swath of bandages from armpits to waist, so soaked with blood that Shiro had no idea where the injury underneath even was. And their faces...
Hunk had been beaten to hell. Both eyes were blackened, and his entire face was so swollen with cuts and bruises that Shiro barely recognized his features. He looked like a prizefighter who had gone too many rounds and just kept getting up when he was knocked down. Keith's face was ghostly pale from blood loss, and his expression was so glazed and vacant that Shiro didn't understand how he was even keeping on his feet. And Lance... Lance was cut and bruised too, though not as badly as Hunk. More worrying was the fact that his nose was pouring blood, and judging by the state of the rest of him, he'd been bleeding for quite a long time.
"Lance!" Shiro yelled, screamed at the top of his lungs. Then he was running again. "Keith! Hunk!"
The three boys halted at his voice. Hunk's eyes went as wide as they could, but Keith seemed too exhausted to have much of a reaction, and Lance... Lance was concentrating on something, his hand raised flat in the air like a cop stopping traffic. Belatedly, Shiro realized that Lance's eyes were wrong. He hadn't noticed at the earlier distance, but now, running closer... Something was definitely wrong with Lance's eyes.
Eyes weren't supposed to glow like that.
A shiver ran down Shiro's back. He remembered yellow eyes, including his own. Or had that been a hallucination? Lance's eyes were different, though. They were blue instead of yellow, and the glow was much more powerful, sparking so brightly that Shiro half-expected to see arcs of lightning shooting out from his eyes.
"Shiro!" Hunk yelled. That was relief in his voice, enormous, overwhelming relief. Like he'd been struggling against a heavy weight all alone for an impossible length of time, and Shiro had finally come to take it off his hands. It sounded like a sob. "Shiro! We're here!"
"I'm here!" Shiro yelled back, and then he was there.
His own shield deactivated, and he ran straight into the transparent wall surrounding the boys with both palms outstretched. He expected to slam into that surface, whatever it was. But instead the transparent shield melted and reformed, letting him through, and he was on the other side. Shiro drew himself to a stop before he ran into Lance and glanced back, breath stuttering in shock. The shield was firmly in place behind him. The four of them were protected from the ongoing firefight outside.
Shiro looked back to his lost-and-found kids, heaving for breath. Pidge's voice, almost hysterical, chattered in his ear. "Did you find them? Shiro, you found them, didn't you? Tell me you found them!"
"I found them," Shiro gasped, already reaching out. His hands wrapped around Keith's arm on one side, the side of Hunk's neck on the other. In front of him, Lance stood still, hand raised, face almost blank besides the dripping blood and the blue glow of his eyes. "I found them. They're here. They're alive. All three of them."
Hunk sobbed, and his knees started to give way. Shiro whirled to catch him, but then Keith was on the way to a fall, too, slumping against Lance as if all of his strength had failed him in an instant. Lance couldn't take the pressure. He started to fold to his knees, too, a rough gasp torn from his lips. He held himself up, barely, and Hunk slumped against Shiro with his arms wrapped around his shoulders, Shiro’s arms holding him up in return.
"I'm here, I'm here," Shiro said, soft and fervent into Hunk’s hair. "I brought an army with me. Pidge is behind me. Allura and Coran are waiting for us. I'm here, I'm here. You can let go. All three of you. You can let go."
Keith let out a high-pitched noise that might have been agony and might have been relief. Lance blinked, and the blue light of his eyes was hidden away for a moment. Outside the shield, the fight was already starting to taper off as the rebels were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Shiro heard the weapons slow, firing less and less frequently.
"Lance," Hunk said, weirdly intense. "Did you hear Shiro? He's here now. You can let go."
Lance blinked again. Then, suddenly, he did. His eyes closed, just slow enough that Shiro could see the glow fade away, replaced with the usual iris and pupil. His raised hand fell to his side, too, and Lance fell, himself. His knees simply buckled beneath him. Keith tried to grab him, but he was also almost limp, unable to hold himself up let alone Lance.
Shiro let go of Hunk with one arm and reached out to catch them both. He was glad for the strength of the prosthetic. Otherwise he wouldn't have been able to handle the sudden weight of both Keith and Lance. As it was, the armful he caught was awkward and unwieldy, and the best he could do was guide their descent to the ground. So Shiro went to his knees with them, Hunk in one arm, Keith in the other, and Lance collapsing forward to land against Shiro's chest.
They were all on the ground, now. Shiro heard a sound like falling water, and he felt a dampness. It was probably his own eyes. "I've got you, I've got you," he murmured, trying to hold all three of them at once and not quite succeeding. He just couldn't decide where to put his hands. One moment he was cradling Keith's cheek, then he was wrapping his palm around the back of Hunk's neck, then he was reaching over to stroke his fingers through Lance's hair where it had come to rest under his chin.
"I've got you," he said, and he was crying, Hunk was crying, Keith was crying, Lance's tears dripped down his breastplate. They were all crying, and it was good, it was good, it was so, so good.
"I missed you," Shiro said. "I was so worried. I'm so glad you're safe."
Hunk cried on his shoulder. "It hurt, Shiro. It hurt so much."
"I'm sorry," Shiro said, carding his fingers through his hair. "I'm so sorry you went through that. But it's over now. You're safe. You're with me, and you're safe."
Lance shuddered against his chest, and Keith whimpered as the movement jarred him, body leaning limply against both Lance and Shiro. Shiro understood that it was going to take time to convince them. He needed to get them back to the castle and into the cryo pods as quickly as possible. He needed to check Keith's wounds and make sure he wasn't bleeding out while they sat there. He needed to find out why Lance's eyes had been glowing, how he'd been controlling that incredible shield.
More importantly, though, he needed to kneel on the ground and hold his boys for as long as possible.
"You were so brave," he told them, over and over. "You were so brave. You fought so hard. I'm so impressed by you. I'm so glad to have you back."
The ground shuddered, and Shiro looked up over his shoulder to see the blue lion traversing the gigantic hangar space to meet them. There were screams and shouts of dismay from the rebels and military still battling it out over at the entrance, but Blue ignored them all. She walked directly to where they were collapsed on the ground and lowered her body down until her head rested on the concrete-like floor and her paws surrounded them, keeping them safe. Her tail lashed somewhere back there, gouging furrows in the concrete, and there was more yelling from the Malkordans. Shiro didn't care.
"Thank you, Blue," he choked out, giving her a watery smile. "Thank you for showing us the way to find them. We'll...we'll ride you back to the Castle of Lions in a bit, okay?"
Blue's eyes glowed as if in acknowledgment, and though they were yellow instead of blue, Shiro's breath caught in his throat. He looked back to Lance, still collapsed on his chest, and a thousand questions pushed at his lips. He said nothing, though. They could discuss it later. The boys could tell him exactly what happened, what they went through, why they were all so injured, how they had escaped in the end. For now, it was enough to know that they were here, and they were alive and safe. Shiro was going to keep them that way no matter what.
"Shiro! Shiro!"
Pidge. Blue lifted one paw, just a little. Pidge rushed through the small gap afforded by the movement, then stopped and stared, heaving for breath. Shiro tried to give her a reassuring smile, telling her that everything was okay now. But her eyes swept over Keith and Lance and Hunk, and he could see the horror there. It was mirrored in his own heart.
They'd been gone for less twelve hours. And this...this was the condition they were in after such a short captivity in enemy hands. Beaten, bloody, exhausted, used and abused in ways Shiro's mind shied from contemplating. All three of them had been tortured, that much was obvious, though the reasons were still opaque.
"Corallis," Hunk mumbled into Shiro's shoulder. Then he lifted his head, eyes suddenly wide, almost frantic. "If Blue is here, that must mean Corallis..."
Who? Shiro opened his mouth to ask, but Lance was already turning his head to answer. "She's gon' be too cold to move for 'while." His voice was slurred with exhaustion, but he seemed confident. Still, Keith shivered harder, and Shiro tightened his grip on him.
That was answer enough to Shiro's question. Corallis was someone who had held them prisoner, and she'd probably had an active role in torturing them. All three boys had tensed up against Shiro at the reminder of her existence. Shiro's heart burned with hatred, and he saw the look on Pidge's face, as well.
"The elevator..." Hunk said, looking at Pidge.
She nodded back, grim. "I got it." She spun on her heel, and Blue lifted her paw to let her out again. Outside the orbit of Blue's protection, Shiro heard Pidge's weapon activate, and something sparked, then shorted out explosively. Corallis wouldn't be coming up any elevators, and presumably stairs would take longer.
But that time, they needed to be gone. Shiro lifted his hand and ruffled it through Keith's hair. "Can you move at all?" he asked softly. "Blue is here. We can go home."
Keith moaned, but he started to shift. Hunk was the most successful, though. He knelt back from leaning on Shiro and took his own weight, though he was still close enough that Shiro could keep a hand on his shoulder. "I can walk," Hunk said wearily, "but Lance isn't gonna be able to move at all, and Keith shouldn't."
"I can walk too," Keith said, with a try at defiance, but he was too tired. Still, he sat back, reeling as he moved. Shiro gripped his upper arm to hold him up.
Lance grunted against Shiro's chest, utterly limp. Without Hunk and Keith propping him up on both sides, he was starting to slide down the armor. It was scary, how completely out of strength he was. Hunk reached over and caught him with a big hand on his back, and Lance suppressed a whimper. He must be sore all over.
By this time Pidge was back. She knelt wordlessly at Keith's side and drew his arm over her shoulders, then pulled him to his feet. Hunk stood on his own, swaying and blinking, but at least he didn't look like he was going to fall over. Shiro gathered Lance into his arms and stood up, and Lance closed his eyes and breathed out a slow breath, his face red with embarrassment under the bruises and cuts.
"I've got you," Shiro murmured. "It's okay, buddy. You did such a good job."
Blue was already waiting with her mouth open, and they walked inside in a slow, limping procession. Shiro set Lance down in the pilot's chair, though he knew he wouldn't be able to take the controls. Lance gave him a grateful smile and relaxed. Hunk sat down on the floor in the back of the cockpit with a whuff of air, and Pidge lowered Keith next to him, then hovered over them anxiously, unable to look away. Hunk took Keith's shoulders and drew him down until he lay on his back, his head in Hunk's lap. Keith closed his eyes and seemed to pass out, right there.
Blue moved, slow and smooth as butter so as not jar her injured passengers. Shiro stood by the pilot's chair, one hand holding the back. With the other, he tapped the Malkordan commset he still wore.
"Attention, Malkordan military force," he said formally, not waiting for a greeting. "This is the Black Paladin. I have retrieved my men and am taking them back to our base for medical treatment. Our representatives will be in touch for further negotiations. Don't call us. We'll call you."
Then he took off his helmet so he could get at the headset. He tore it off his head and dropped it on the floor. He resisted the urge to stomp it under foot, break it until it was nothing but splinters and pieces. They were going home, and nothing else mattered.
Coran was waiting with a couple of hoverstretchers when they arrived. Allura was on her way, he said, but Shiro barely heard him. He was carrying Keith, this time. Keith wouldn't wake up. And there was far too much blood. Some of it was staining the floor of Blue's cockpit now, and Shiro didn't want to think about it. They had to get Keith into a cryo pod as quickly as possible.
Hunk and Pidge came behind, almost hobbling, trying to support Lance between them. Lance was too weak even to hold his head up, instead letting it bob against his chest. Coran cast them a worried look, already bent over Keith trying to read his vitals, cursing when he couldn't find them. Then he did, but they were too weak. Once Shiro laid Keith down on one of the stretchers, he went back for Lance and put him on the other one. Then he had to catch Hunk when the big man almost fell down, too.
They were all in such horrible shape. It made Shiro's throat too tight for speech. He had almost lost it when Coran couldn't find Keith's vitals at first. Now, he just held onto Hunk as tight as he could. Pidge held Lance's hand. Coran led the way to the infirmary, jogging through the halls with the stretchers following behind like balloons on strings.
Hunk couldn't keep up, and Shiro wouldn't leave him behind, so by the time they arrived at the infirmary Coran and Pidge had already gotten Keith into a pod. He floated there, ghostly pale. The white medsuit made him look even worse, but Shiro was grateful that Coran had managed to remove those clunky, awful wrist cuffs. Shiro deliberately chose not to look at his chest, nor at the pile of bloody cloth left on the hoverstretcher. Lance was next, then Hunk, after a brief examination. Hunk tried to protest that he didn't need it, he was fine, just some bruises. But Coran said Lance had mentioned something about the Malkordans using a mind wipe on Hunk, so he went in too.
Once they were all healing, Shiro sat down on the floor and closed his eyes. Pidge sat next to him and leaned into his side, and he put his arm around her shoulders. He heard Coran moving around the space, putting things away, setting alarms on his tablet reader to alert him when the boys woke up. Then his footsteps came closer to them, and Shiro felt his hand in his hair.
Shiro opened his eyes and looked up. Coran smiled down at him, soft and warm behind his mustache. "Why don't you clean up and have a rest?" he suggested kindly. "They'll be in the pods for hours. Hunk just a few, Lance a little more, Keith a little more than that. By evening meal they'll all be out. You have time for a nap."
Shiro blinked. That fast? That was all the time they needed? Well, none of the boys had suffered internal injuries, apparently, and while Keith was the worst off, he hadn't even lost consciousness until they were safe in Blue. Shiro's hands shook, and he clenched them together.
"I...yes," he said slowly. "A nap would be good."
"Take your time. I'll contact you when Hunk is ready to be released."
Shiro didn't want to take his time. He wanted to stay here and wait. But he could acknowledge that Coran was right. He needed to clean up, and he needed a rest. His eyes felt gritty when he blinked, and Pidge was sagging against him harder and harder. He needed to set a good example for her.
Then a thought hit Shiro, and he sat up straight. "No."
Coran took a step back and frowned down at him. "What?"
"I need to see it." Shiro's hands clenched into fists. "I need to see the place where they were held. The Malkordans should be finished cleaning out that rat's nest by now. I need to see what happened there."
Coran's frown deepened. "I don't think..."
Shiro stared up at him. "I'm their leader. I need to see. I need to understand."
Pidge was already on her feet. "There might be more security footage to pull." Shiro opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "If it counts for you, it counts for me. They're my teammates. My friends." Her teeth bared, fierce and powerful. "We have to get there fast, before the Malkordans have the chance to cover anything up. We'll take Black and Green."
Coran started to protest again, then sighed and closed his mouth. "You're right. There are far too many questions here. We need answers, and we can't trust the Malkordan government to provide them."
Left unsaid was that of course they would talk to Hunk and Lance and Keith, too, but their perspective was no doubt limited. And Shiro didn't want to force them to discuss what they had gone through before they were ready, anyway. Better if he could find out on his own.
He still wanted to tell Pidge to stay behind, but he couldn't. She was right. They were her teammates, and she needed to know what had happened to them. It wasn't fair; she was too young. She shouldn't have to even know that things like this happened to people at all, let alone be exposed to them. But all that had gone out the window the instant she accepted her role as the Green Paladin.
And as much as it made Shiro's stomach churn to contemplate it, Pidge faced the same risks. He had no idea why the Malkordans had chosen to take Lance and Keith and Hunk from their rooms and not he and Pidge. But they both knew that they had narrowly escaped capture and torture. Shiro would have gladly put himself in the place of any or all of his teammates, but he had not been given a choice. Neither had Pidge or the others.
One thing was for sure. They were never trusting the security of potential allies again. From now on, they were bringing their own, and they wouldn't let their guard down until they were all safe in the Castle of Lions.
They did not ask the Malkordans for permission to land their lions, just took them down to the base. Shiro knew it was a breach of protocol, but he didn't care. Allura could apologize for them, if she felt the need. They arrived in the middle of what looked like a clean-up operation. Fast work, since they'd only been gone for about half an hour. Shiro and Pidge disembarked from the lions and strode through the hustle and bustle side-by-side. Out of the corner of his eye, Shiro saw Franred approaching, but he took one look at Shiro's face and turned away. Smart man.
Pidge had destroyed the elevator thoroughly, though a unit of Malkordan techs was working on fixing it. They found the door Lance had somehow blown away and discovered a stairwell, then started down. Some of the stairs were damp, and Shiro saw drops and dribbles of blood here and there. Could have been Keith, Lance, even Hunk. All were dark red now, drying out. They didn't meet anyone on the stairs. Maybe Franred had warned the folks under his command to stay out of their way.
On the bottom floor, they stepped into a hallway. It was white and institutional, doors on each side. Not far down the hall, broken bars jutted out from the wall on both sides as well as the ceiling, strangely twisted and blasted where they had been cut through.
A line of metal splinters had fallen on the floor below, as if the bars had been obliterated by an unimaginable force and dropped down like sprinkles. Shiro stepped over the line almost superstitiously, as if it was a crack that could break his mother's back. Something about it seemed mysterious and powerful, supernatural. Pidge followed his lead.
In another room off the main hall, they found more. A door cut through with violence and prejudice. A destroyed machine, hulking in the corner, large chunks of it carved out as if with a chainsaw. A chair with straps. Blood and water on the floor.
Pidge studied the machine, trying to figure out what it was for, while Shiro patrolled the edges of the room for more clues. She came back to Shiro's side sickly white, unwilling to talk about what she'd seen. Just shook her head when Shiro asked. "I could be wrong," she murmured. Shiro knew that look. She wanted to be wrong. He didn't think she was.
They went back into the hall, turned a corner. Now the walls were not white, but dark gray. The doors had bars in them. Shiro's steps faltered, and Pidge's hand found his elbow. It wasn't like the Galra cells, not really. The colors were different, the lines, the designs. But all prisons had a sameness to them, even so. He knew what this was.
A door was open. They went inside. The cell was bare, almost unfurnished, only an empty, twisted bedframe in one corner and a commode in the other. And on the floor, blood. The shredded remains of Keith's shirt, a yellow corner of Hunk's pajamas. Shiro picked them all up, unwilling to leave even scraps that belonged to his people in this sullied place. He stood in the middle of the cell and breathed until he steadied. The room was too small. Pidge pulled his elbow, made him leave.
She took him back to the white corridor and pushed him down to sit on the floor, back against the wall. Then she started breaking down doors. He sat there and listened to her, constantly aware of her exact location. If she yelled for help, or even gasped too loudly, he would be up and at her side in an instant, Galra arm glowing. But Pidge was grim, almost silent, just doing her job.
Eventually, Pidge found a room with something useful in it. Probably computers. Shiro heard typing, cursing. Then she rummaged around for a while, and there were more bangs and crashes. Her weapon activated and cut through something.
She returned flushed and triumphant, carrying several boxy components that looked like hard drives. "They tried to erase the footage," she said, grimacing to show what she thought of that. "But I think I have a program to put it back together. Or I'll write one."
Shiro smiled. "I'm sure you will." He gathered his feet under himself and stood, hand falling on her shoulder. "Don't watch the footage alone, okay? Once you decrypt it, give it to me. Or Allura and Coran."
She nodded thoughtfully, staring down at the components in her hands. Then she looked around again. "Should we keep looking? See if there's anything else?"
Shiro hesitated. To be thorough, they really should keep going. There might be other rooms, other scraps he needed to collect. But a very large, very insistent part of him rebelled at the thought.
After all, he had completed his objective. He had seen where they were held. He understood at least a piece of what they'd been through. He knew what it had been like, not least because he'd been through something like it himself, though not the same. The sickness in his gut and the images in his head were enough to remind him of everything he had forgotten, everything he wanted to forget.
And Pidge had seen enough.
"No," he said as calmly as he could. He ignored the quiver down deep in his voice and in his belly. "We're done here. Let's go back and wait for the boys to wake up."
Pidge nodded, and they went.
|
"Okay, come again?"
Jake rolled his eyes. "We're going to the beach. Are you coming with us or not?"
"Um," Bonnie hesitated and looked past Jake to his car, where Finn, Elle and Lady were sat. They were actually serious. They were going to the beach at seven at night in the middle of February. "You're crazy. We'll freeze."
"Actually, it's kind of nice out." Jake commented, glancing around himself. "It's sort of a Glassrock tradition. The first nice day of the year, there's a party on the beach later. You should come. Everyone is there, usually."
Bonnibel hummed in thought and leaned against the doorframe. "What do you guys do?"
Jake shrugged, and Bonnie could tell that he was starting to become impatient. "Not much. We just hang out and have fun, you know?"
Bonnie pushed herself from the doorframe and grabbed her purple sneakers from where they were sat by the radiator. "Alright, I'll come along. How far away is it?"
"Around ten minutes." Jake replied, "The party is on the sands and there's a load of stores on the roadside if you want to look in those. Considering you're not into drinking, you'll probably want to look around the stores."
Bonnie finished pulling on her shoes, and she grabbed her coat on her way out of the door for good measure. "Okay. Am I in the backseat?"
Jake opened the back left car door for her in confirmation. "Yeah. Hope you're okay with being in there with Finn and Elle. They can be loud on drives."
Bonnie laughed as she sat down, but didn't comment. Instead, she greeted her other friends with a smile. "Hey, guys."
Elle beamed at her. "Hey, Bonnibel. We didn't think you'd come. Phoebe texted and said that you probably wouldn't like the whole party thing."
"Parties aren't my scene, I will agree," Bonnie shrugged, "but still, I figured it'd be nice to…open up. Try new things."
"It'll be super fun," Finn told her, "I went last year for the first time and it was great. I don't really remember it all that much, but it was still cool."
Lady laughed. Judging by the look on Finn's face, what she was about to say wasn't good, at least for him. Everyone else's smirks set off some alarm bells. "Finn drank a little too much of the Coke that was available. Turns out it was mixed with vodka and he ended up wasted."
"Wasn't it Marshall who spiked it?" Jake laughed and glanced at his brother in the rear-view mirror.
"He said it wasn't." Finn muttered and sent Lady his best scowl. Apparently he hadn't wanted that story to resurface. "But it was probably one of his friends."
"Maybe it was Ash," Elle's face morphed into one of disgust at the mention of this person, "He's a total wad. I'd expect that kind of thing from him."
"Ash?" Bonnie frowned in confusion, "Does he go to our school?"
"He graduated a year ago but didn't get into any colleges. Mostly he just hangs around town, drinking. He can be kind of violent at times, too." Jake explained. Bonnie decided that she really didn't like him. She wasn't one to judge from rumours, but that was a bit too much.
Lady added a little bit of extra information. "He's also Marceline's boyfriend."
Alarm bells rang in Bonnie's head. She'd met him before, about a month ago when she'd ran into them. Marceline had been especially mean on that particular occasion, and Ash was a different story all together. Not only had he been rude to her, the way he'd spoken to Marceline…
But Bonnie didn't care about that.
She resolved to change the subject. "Well, I'll probably get a bottle of water from one of the stores you guys mentioned. I'd rather not end up drunk by accident."
"Sounds like a good plan." Finn commented, "I think I'll do the same."
"That'd be wise," Lady sent him a fond smile, "We don't want another hangover like that, do we, Finn?"
Finn shuddered at the memory. Bonnie couldn't relate – she'd never been drunk, so she hadn't experienced a hangover before. She should probably count herself lucky.
Elle smiled, "So, Bonnie, I have someone for you to meet later. I've texted him and he's going to be here, so-"
Bonnie raised an eyebrow. "Him?"
"I told you I was going to set you up." Elle reminded her, "He's called Braco and he's really cool. He's your type, too."
Bonnie couldn't recall telling Elle specifically what her 'type' was, and although she hadn't wanted to be set up, the thought was nice. For all she knew, she could end up really liking the guy.
(Besides, it got her mind off what M had said the other day.)
She remained silent for the rest of the drive, barring a few times when she contributed to the conversation to back up someone's point in a mini-debate. She didn't need to hear Jake's "we're here" – the loud music was enough of a giveaway. A mini-stage had been set up and there was a band playing, but Bonnie couldn't make out any of the members. All she could tell was that it was some form of rock music.
She followed her friends down to the beach and watched as they spread out a few towels, Lady and Elle dumping their bags down on them. Finn flopped down too, so Bonnie followed his lead and sat, looking around at all of her already tipsy classmates.
She turned to him with a smile, "So, what're we going to do for the night?"
He didn't give her a very helpful reply. "Hang out. I'm going to go and get a drink if you want one."
"Uh," Bonnie looked around. Jake and Lady had melted into the crowds and Elle was talking to a muscular boy over by the punch bowl, "Yeah, alright. I'll watch the bags."
He flashed her a smile and stood up, stretching out his arms. "Okay. I'll be two seconds."
She watched as he disappeared into the crowds, heading away from the sand and towards the storefronts parallel to them. Then, she resorted to picking at her pink nail polish as she waited for him, her other friends all too busy to hold a conversation with her.
"Hey, Bonnibel," A familiar voice greeted her. Bonnie beamed when Keila flopped down next to her, her smile faltering when Marceline followed her lead. "I didn't think you would be coming here."
"You know, a lot of people have said that," Bonnie laughed, "Are you two having fun?"
"Yeah," Keila bobbed her head in confirmation and slung an arm around Marceline's shoulder, apparently not noticing her friend's wince. Bonnie just rolled her eyes. If Marceline was in so much pain, maybe she should think twice about getting herself into fights. "We played a set earlier which was cool, and now I think we're both planning on getting drunk. Right, Marce?"
Marceline hummed in response. "Yeah. I guess."
Out of mere curiosity, Bonnie carefully asked, "Is your boyfriend here?"
Marceline didn't meet her gaze and shrugged. "Somewhere around, probably."
She frowned and looked up to Keila, attempting to communicate 'is she okay?' through a look in her eyes. Keila apparently understood what she was asking, as she mimed back 'she's just tired' and then squeezed Marceline's shoulders again. Another wince.
"So, are you alone? If you are, Marce and I will keep you company." Keila offered, but eyed the bags Bonnie was watching over. "Judging by those, you're here with friends."
"Kind of," Bonnie let out an awkward laugh, "Finn just left to buy water for us both, Jake and Lady are talking to people, Elle is with… I think Brad, but I don't know, and Phoebe and Fionna aren't here as far as I know."
"We can chill with you until Finn gets back," Keila resolved and stretched out on the towels they were sat on, "Better than hanging with the guys since they're all stoned."
"Pretty sure Guy's just drunk," Marceline corrected her. Bonnie followed the other girl's gaze over to a group of guys about ten feet away from them. They were smoking, but Bonnie was fairly certain that it wasn't just a normal cigarette that they were passing around. "Either way, intoxicated guys aren't that fun to be around."
"I second that," Keila laughed, "Intoxicated girls, though…"
Bonnie shifted uncomfortably. "Are you… gay?"
Obviously she wouldn't have a problem with that if Keila was, but knowing that there was a chance that Bonnie might be gay had made the topic of sexualities a little uncomfortable for her. Even though Bonnie knew that she was straight, the thought wouldn't get out of her head. It was always there, at the back of her mind, mocking her as she tried to ignore it.
Keila sent her an odd look. "No. Marceline is bi and I'm pan."
Bonnie knew of bisexuality, but the other thing? Not at all. "Pan?"
"Pansexual." Keila explained, "If I'm going to simplify it, it means that you don't care about the gender of the person you date. You like all genders. Bisexuality is liking two or more genders. In Marceline's case, she likes guys and girls."
Bonnie looked over to Marceline for more explanation. "I bet that kind of thing was…hard to figure out."
Marceline probably would've responded if she could've. She looked like she was about to, but a dark shadow fell over them and Bonnie looked away to see Ash. She didn't miss the way Marceline seemed to tense up as though it was her natural reaction.
"Marceline," Ash didn't smile at her as he jerked his head towards his friends, "Come on. We're going."
Marceline didn't even hesitate. Silently, she rose to her feet and went to follow Ash, but Keila grabbed onto her wrist. "You're not seriously going with him, are you?"
Ash sent Keila a scathing look. "What? I'm her boyfriend. She's coming with me."
He grabbed Marceline's arm and yanked her from Keila's grip, apparently not caring when Marceline let out a soft hiss in pain. In fact, Bonnie was the only one to notice. She didn't comment, though, just stared at her feet until Marceline and Ash were out of earshot. Then, she looked up to Keila and decided not to talk about what had just happened.
Apparently, Keila had a different idea. "I can't believe she's still dating him."
Bonnie's face sunk into a frown. "How long have they been together?"
"A year, on and off. She broke up with him twice but she always ends up going back." Keila sighed, "She deserves so much better."
Bonnie glanced over to Marceline's disappearing silhouette. She didn't make a comment on that last part; although Marceline was much less abrasive towards her as of late, they still weren't friends. It wasn't Bonnie's place.
Instead, she kept her mouth shut and listened to Keila's rant.
"Bonnibel!" Elle threw her arms around Bonnie's shoulders and pulled her in for a bone-crushingly tight hug. "Listen, I have a boyfriend for you. He's around here somewhere and I need to find him."
Bonnie let out an awkward laugh and tried to shuffle away from Elle. "I think you need to sit down for a moment. I'm sure you can introduce me to your friend once you've sobered up a little bit."
Finn extended one of the water bottles he'd bought in Bonnie's direction, and she smiled gratefully. She unscrewed the cap and gave it to Elle, waiting for her to drink. She steadied her friend and sat her down in the little space between Finn and herself, and then looked over to Lady for some form of explanation.
Lady only supplied her with a shrug. "She gets a little friendly when she's drunk."
Bonnie hummed, shifting uncomfortably as Elle tried hugging her again. "Yeah, I kind of realised that."
"Um, Elle?" A soft male voice from behind them was enough to stop Elle from trying to grab hold of Bonnie's earrings. "You said you wanted me to meet someone?"
"Braco!" Elle exclaimed, spinning around on the spot and almost toppling over. Luckily for her, Finn and Jake grabbed her and pulled her upright again. "Yes, this is Bonnibel. She's the girl I was telling you about."
Elle tried to point at Bonnie and jabbed a finger in her general direction, but she ended up pointing about half a foot away from her. Lady had to direct her hand to the right place.
Awkwardly, Bonnie smiled and cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah, hi. I'm Bonnibel."
Braco sent her a warm smile and nodded towards the water. "Would you like to go for a walk?"
Bonnie cast a glance towards a drunken Elle, who was nodding enthusiastically, and the rest of her friends who didn't seem to have an opinion. She decided that she might as well give him a chance. After all, she could end up liking him a lot, and liking Braco was a good thing.
Liking Braco would be normal.
She nodded and stood up, brushing any residual sand from her jeans. "Yes, I'd like that."
Braco beamed and placed a hand of the small on her back. Bonnie flinched and pulled away a little in dicomfort. He was leading her away from her friends, but Bonnie tried not to worry about that. If he was a friend of Elle's, he had to be a good guy.
Once they were out of earshot of her friends, he spoke. "So, you're from England?"
Bonnie laughed, "What gave me away?"
"Oh, you know," Braco looked down to his feet with a reserved smile, "I've heard that British girls are prettier."
Bonnie expected her stomach to flip, her breath to catch in her throat and her cheeks to stain red. She'd expected nervousness, butterflies at his compliment, to feel like Elle had told her she was supposed to feel.
She felt nothing.
"That's sweet," She tried to appreciate his compliment, but really, all she was thinking about was oh my god what if M was right. "So, the accent didn't give me away?"
"Accent?" Braco raised a questioning eyebrow, but his half-smile gave him away. "Would you believe that I didn't even notice?"
Bonnie laughed, but it came out a little forced. Honestly, she was more focused on regulating her heartbeat, and it wasn't pounding because of his compliments. It was trying to break through her chest in fear.
Why wasn't she feeling anything? Why wasn't heat rising to her cheeks? Her stomach was supposed to be jittery, performing backflips and making her feel excited with anticipation, maybe for a date or a kiss on the cheek.
She wrung her hands together, hoping that Braco would assume it was just nervous habit. Focusing her eyes on him – he was recounting a story, an anecdote about the time he went to Florida which she really wasn't paying much attention to – she tried to push any bad thoughts from her mind. That's what she'd resolved to do after her talk with M. There was no way that she liked girls. No.
"…so, I was about to go down this huge waterslide, when-" Braco paused and tilted his head to the side, "Are you alright? You look kind of sick."
Bonnie determined that she was sick. That was obviously why she wasn't responding properly to Braco's compliments. Clearly, she was just feeling under the weather. It wasn't the other thing, the thing that she was definitely going to push down and keep locked up. Repress it, Bonnie, she told herself, just don't think about it and it'll go away.
She put a hand to her forehead and feigned surprise, hoping that he'd believe that she was feeling ill. "Oh, yeah, I do feel kind of warm."
"Maybe we should get you away from all the noise of the party. Doesn't seem like a good idea to be around loud music and drunk teens." Bonnibel didn't even register it when Braco put an arm around her waist and led her away from the mini-stage, down towards a quieter half of the beach. "Personally, I don't see the appeal of drinking. Why bother? You won't remember the night in the morning."
Bonnie should've been falling head over heels for this guy. She could see why Elle had picked him over anyone else; his view on drinking and parties was similar to hers, he seemed rather studious and put-together. He was perfect for her.
And yet, she felt absolutely nothing.
Repress, she reminded herself as they were a comfortable distance away from everyone. He sat her down on the sand, just a small space left between them and the water.
She let out a soft breath and nodded in a delayed response to his statement. "Yeah, I totally agree. I don't see the appeal, either. I'd rather have a quiet night in than go out to a party."
"Me too," He beamed, looking at her like she was the very first piece of treasure he'd found after a lifelong search. Bonnie tried to make herself feel like that about him, too. "Watching Netflix or studying is the way I like to go."
"Studying?" Bonnibel raised an eyebrow. She tried to keep her tone light and comical, but that was hard when the only thought going through her mind was you should like him and you don't, what if M was right and you're gay?
Braco cringed and let out a soft laugh, "Yeah, I probably shouldn't have mentioned that. Whenever my interest in mathematics comes up around pretty girls, it doesn't usually go down very well."
Bonnie shook her head and tried to look assuring. "No, don't worry about it. In fact, I'm quite scientific myself."
"I like science," He was quick to respond, that smile on his face again, "It's interesting, knowing how the world works."
All her life, Bonnie had dreamed of meeting someone with the same interests as her, the same love for academia as her. Now it was happening, and she still felt nothing. It wasn't like she felt emptiness or repulsion or anything like that. It was just…neutrality.
That was the scariest part.
"That's always what I say when people question my love for it," Bonnie smiled, "I was always a curious child."
He opened his mouth to say something else – probably to ask her which topics she found most interesting or something along those lines – but he didn't get to. He was cut off by a shout, an angry male voice that turned Bonnibel's stomach to iron.
"You fucking bitch," Ash's figure came into view, his hand clasped around Marceline's wrist, "I can't believe you. I should break up with you right here. You don't deserve me."
Bonnibel rose to her feet, a curious frown on her face. She watched in confusion as Marceline pulled her arm from Ash's grip and told him to go fuck himself.
Braco mimicked her, "Good call," he jerked his head to the right, "we should get out of here. Those two are bad news."
Instead of going in the direction he'd gestured towards, Bonnibel walked forwards. Straight towards Marceline and Ash, who had her shoved against an empty shack that Bonnie presumed would sell ice cream in the summer. Right now, it didn't have very positive connotations.
Ash had stopped shouting and had switched to harsh whispering, one of his hands on Marceline's shoulder, pinning her to the outside of the shack. "I swear to god, if you don't do it, I'll-"
"Hey, Marceline?" Bonnie realised that she had to be careful, practising a level of confidence in her voice. She knew that if she sounded frightened for even a fraction of a second, Ash would pick up on it. "I'm getting quite tired and you said you would give me a lift. Can we set off now?"
At the sound of her voice, Ash let go of Marceline completely and stepped back a few paces, sending Bonnie a polite smile as if he hadn't just been pinning his girlfriend to a wall. She knew it was only a ploy, and that his violent side would come back quickly if Bonnie didn't get Marceline out of there.
He turned to Marceline, something threatening underneath the smile he was sending her. "You didn't tell me that you were giving someone a ride."
Marceline pushed herself from the wall with a visible wince. "Um, yeah, I kind of forgot about that."
Bonnibel mimicked Braco from earlier, and motioned towards the party by jerking her head over her shoulder. "Well, come on. I need to get home, as my uncle set a curfew and I still have a little bit of homework to complete for Monday."
Marceline's gaze flicked between her and Ash, and then she stepped forwards and followed Bonnibel back over to where Braco was stood, wide eyed and open mouthed.
He looked between Bonnibel and Marceline. "Are you two friends?"
"No," Marceline was quick to reply, but didn't quite meet Braco's gaze, "acquaintances is more accurate."
"Yeah," Bonnie was surprised they were even that, "I'm going to have to head off now. I'll see you around, Braco."
"Wait," He stopped her before she could walk away, "hang out with me sometime?"
Bonnibel's gaze flicked over to Ash, who was watching them like a hawk, and then nodded, "Sure. I'll get your number from Elle when she's sober. Bye."
He waved her goodbye, and Bonnibel followed Marceline towards the party again. Her apparent new acquaintance turned to her with a frown. "Who was that guy?"
"Braco," Bonnibel answered, "Elle set me up with him."
Marceline snorted, looking back in Braco's direction. He was still watching after them with a smile. "Lame. I didn't know your type was boring nerd. Although, I'm surprised that I didn't figure that out. You're kind of a boring nerd too."
In an attempt to lighten up the situation – talking about that thing with Ash probably wasn't the smartest move in the world – Bonnibel smiled and replied, "Only kind of?"
Marceline laughed. She actually laughed at something Bonnie had said. It wasn't even forced. It was soft, light, and most importantly, happy. "Nice one. Didn't expect a nerd like you to be good with comebacks."
"Well, nerds are typically smart, right?" Bonnie raised an eyebrow, "Comebacks require quick thinking, and quick thinking correlates with intelligence. Naturally, nerds are going to be good with comebacks. Simple."
Marceline blinked at her. "Did you just analyse me?"
"Slightly," Bonnie admitted, "I could go into more depth, if you'd like."
Marceline shook her head and made a sharp left, taking them off the sand and over to the storefronts. Bonnie noted Marceline's car parked in front of one of the shops. "I think we're good with the detail."
"Alright then," Bonnibel brightly responded as she climbed into Marceline's car. She buckled up her seatbelt and glanced over to the driver's seat. "Are you going to put some music on?"
Marceline completely disregarded her question. "Why didn't you ask?"
"About what?" Bonnie was fairly certain that she already knew the answer, but she asked anyway.
"About Ash," Marceline's green eyes landed on her, "and stuff."
"That's your business. We're not exactly friends, are we?" Bonnie replied. For the most part, that was true. In reality, it was also kind of because she'd assumed Marceline wouldn't have liked her prying and she'd get a punch for it. "You didn't actually have to give me a ride home, by the way. Jake was going to give me a lift."
"Yeah, well," Marceline directed her gaze to her car keys and mimicked Bonnibel's accent, "I owe you one."
Bonnie rolled her eyes, "I think we're even. And that accent was scarily accurate."
Marceline just smiled in response.
|
After Yuisu's call with Agent Will, news of Mimi's approaching departure spread quickly through the house. Before the night was over, Tsuen and Mara had already started planning a goodbye party, keeping Tsuen up far later than she was used to. They were kneeling on the carpeted floor of their bedroom, wearing PJs and writing out a plan in a notebook.
"So, is that everything?" Tsuen asked before being overcome by a wide yawn that ended with a cute whinny sound.
Mara found it hilariously adorable, but tried to keep a straight face. She wanted to keep things moving forward so that Tsuen could get to sleep. She nodded and said, "I think so. All that's left is to make a list of food and alcohol, then buy it."
"Alcohol? But Mimi's not old enough to drink!" Tsuen said, her tired eyes wide with surprise.
Mara chuckled. "As if that's ever stopped a delinquent like her," she said with a hint of reverence, one troublemaker appreciating another. "Believe me, she'll want alcohol at her going away party, and besides, she was old enough to drink in France. As for what kind to buy, I overheard that Mimi likes vodka, and I'll get some espresso or something for myself so I can join the fun. What do you like to drink, Tsuen?"
Tsuen crossed her front hooves and fidgeted with her hands. "Uh, I don't drink often, but I guess I really like mead."
"That honey-wine stuff? Alright, I'll pick some up for you when I go shopping with Yuisu."
Another long yawn from Tsuen reminded Mara to wrap up for the night, so she jotted down a note to figure out food later. Mara put her notes by her computer then returned to prod Tsuen into bed. "Come on, sleepyhead, let's get you to bed. You've got work in the morning," she said as she tugged Tsuen by the arm.
"Uh huh," Tsuen replied sleepily. She climbed onto the low, sturdy bed and feebly tried to wriggle under the blanket.
Mara clambered around to tuck Tsuen in under the covers, then brushed her megenta hair out of her face and gave her a kiss on the nose. "Goodnight, Tsuey."
"G'night, Mara," Tsuen whispered before quickly falling asleep.
Mara stayed up for a while longer, sketching and writing in a different notebook while she referenced something on her computer screen.
The next day, while Tsuen was at work at Sports Club Kobold, Mara and Yuisu went into town for errands.
As Yuisu drove, she caught sight of the long list Mara was reviewing and asked, "Is all of that for Mimi's party?"
Mara shook her head. "Most of it is, but I also wanted to get a Christmas gift for Tsuen."
"Ah, good thinking," Yuisu said, keeping her eyes on the road. "The stores can get a little crazy in December, so it's a good idea to do gift shopping early."
Mara grinned up at Yuisu. "That's not why I'm buying it early. This gift is gonna be a one-of-a-kind dress, made by yours truly! I adjusted that kimono for Tsuen, but this'll be the first dress I've ever made from scratch, so I need time to get it just right."
Yuisu raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Wow, very nice, Mara. I think she'll love that." After a moment, Yuisu tilted her head and asked, "Just for clarity's sake, I'm buying all the party stuff since I'll be reimbursed, but you're paying for the dress supplies yourself, right?"
Mara smiled and nodded. "Yep! I've been saving for this for a while. If all goes well, I might even make some more dresses to sell to other centaurs. A lot of arachne become amazing seamstresses, but most of them don't bother to cater to other races. And I could use a real source of income."
Yuisu steered her little red truck into the parking lot of Okayado's only strip mall. It was smaller than the large indoor mall across down but it was home to a good variety of retail shops. It had everything Yuisu and Mara needed on this trip: a fabric store, a liquor store, and a grocery store.
The human-arachne pair got some stares as they shopped, mostly because Mara didn't visit town very often and a bright pink spider certainly stood out. Thanks to Mara's organized list their shopping was pretty quick, at least until they got to the liquor store.
After finally convincing the shopkeeper that Mara was indeed twenty years old despite her childlike appearance, they entered the liquor store and wandered around a bit. Mara stopped next to a shelf full of clear liquor, then grabbed two bottles seemingly at random. "Uh, Yuisu? Which of these is good? I don't know squat about liquor…"
"Hmm. I'm more of a beer and sake girl myself, so I'm not sure about these." Yuisu looked at the two vodka bottles and paused in thought. "But I recognize that brand and the price isn't bad, so maybe go with that?" she said, pointing at the bottle in Mara's left hand.
Mara set that bottle in her basket, returned the other to the shelf, and continued on to the next section on her list: mead. Since honey-wine is pretty niche, the store only had a couple options for Mara to consider. As she read their labels, words like 'adjunct', 'fermentation', and 'metheglin' overwhelmed her until she found something she recognized: 'alcohol by volume'.
This one is 8%, and the other is 20%. She glanced at the vodka in her basket and saw that it was almost 50% alcohol, so she thought, Whoa, I guess this 8% stuff is no good then. I'll get the 20% one for Tsuen. Mara hefted the large bottle into the cart, struggling a little with its weight.
Yuisu paid for their liquor and the pair drove home with their full haul from all three stores. Since the party wasn't until the next day, they loaded all the food into the fridge and Mara shuffled off to her bedroom to work on Tsuen's Christmas gift.
On Friday, Mimi was busy in her room, packing for her move the next morning. She'd brought very few possessions with her when she'd snuck into Japan, but since then she had accumulated a fair number of souvenirs, some new clothes, and other minor things.
KNOCK KNOCK!
Mimi paused with a bag of bathroom supplies in one hand. Before she could do anything else, Chione's voice came through the door, "Hey, Mimi, come out here real quick."
"Be right there!" she called back. She dropped the bag into a cardboard box. She was thankful that during this move she wouldn't have to hide away inside her chest with all her belongings. Her trip into Japan had been far from comfortable.
Mimi rolled to the door on her electric dolly, yet another new thing she was thankful for. Her life really had improved since moving here, in more ways than she could put into words. She opened the door and was immediately surprised to see more than just Chione standing there. Nearly everyone in the household was crammed into the hallway, and they were all looking at Mimi. Even Actia was there, peeking out from behind Chione's wing.
Mara skittered forward and thrust a glass of pink liquid into Mimi's hand. As Mimi looked down at it in confusion, Mara said, "Don't worry, Iormu mixed it, after she said that I have no idea what I'm doing."
At that, Quess giggled and said, "I believe Iormu's exact words were, 'By Odin's beard! A full glass of 100-proof?! Are you trying to kill the girl?'"
Mara scrunched up her face and glared at Quess, indignant. "How was I supposed to know? I get drunk on caffeine, not alcohol."
Mimi looked around at all the faces crowded around her. "What's going on? I don't understand."
Chione put a hand on Mimi's shoulder and squeezed. "We're throwing a goodbye party for you, Mimi! Come celebrate and hang out. You can finish packing later, and I'll help if you want."
Sliding, skittering, and rolling, the group made their way into the kitchen, where Yuisu was preparing a huge tray of snacks and a bunch of alcohol was already set out on the counter.
As everyone else rushed toward the food or drink, Mimi stopped and slumped in her chest, then muttered, "All this for me? I thought you all didn't like me very much…"
Mara suddenly appeared to Mimi's right side, holding a can of espresso in one hand and already looking a little buzzed. She said, "I gotta admit, when you first showed up, I had my suspicions about you, and you were kind of a huge bitch."
Tsuen stepped up behind Mara and bopped her on top of her head with one fist. "Mara! Don't be mean."
Mara glanced up at her girlfriend and scowled. "Give me a chance to finish." She turned back to Mimi and continued, "But that bad first impression was all my fault, and you grew on me over time. Your antics are super fun, and once you stopped fighting anything Yuisu suggested, you were nice to have around." She took a big gulp of her coffee, wiped her mouth with the back of a carapace-covered hand, then smiled and said, "I'll miss you, Mimi."
Mimi broke into a smile. "Thank you, Mara. I'll miss you t—"
Mara interrupted her by shouting, "Now chug that vodka lemonade thingy and join the party! I picked out a bunch of great snacks and we can play some games too." She immediately ran behind Mimi's chest and started pushing it toward the snack table, her eight sock-covered feet slipping and sliding wildly on the smooth wood floor.
As Mara shuffled off, Tsuen chuckled and shook her head. Mara sure is Mara… and I love that about her. She made her own way to the kitchen counter where Iormu had mixed Mimi's drink, but the jormungand had slithered off to get some food. Tsuen shrugged and poured herself a big glass of mead, unaware that this particular mead had a much higher alcohol content than what she was used to.
While most of the girls were occupied with a raucous game of Cards Against Liminals, Iormu retreated to the corner to get her massive tail out of everyone's way. Then she pulled out her phone to call Agent Will. He was babysitting Pwess for the night, and even though Iormu trusted him and she knew he was great with kids, she still wanted to check in on her little princess, just in case.
To Iormu's relief, he answered the phone quickly. "Hey, Iormu. Everything's going great. Pwess is watching some Disney movie right now and behaving wonderfully," Agent Will assured her. "Now you should get back to enjoying your mommy's night off, Iormu."
"Thanks, Agent Will," Iormu said. As she hung up, she was already imagining how much Pwess must love a princess-centric story, given the origin of her name. Though we'll have to explain that queens aren't as evil as Disney movies like to imply...
While Iormu was lost in thought, Tsuen pranced over and joined her, presumably because the centaur wasn't keen on the crude nature of the card game everyone else was playing. "Hiya, Iormu," she said cheerfully, then she asked, "How are you doin'?"
"Pretty good," Iormu answered, but before she could elaborate, Tsuen wobbled unsteadily and leaned against Iormu's mountain of coiled tail for support.
"Ooh, you're comfy." The tipsy centaur lowered herself to the floor and snuggled her brown-furred body up against Iormu's scales.
"Uh, thanks?" Iormu replied. Being cold-blooded, she certainly didn't mind the warmth, but she wasn't used to Tsuen being so physical.
"Psst, Iormu," Tsuen whispered loudly, "I heard that the tip of your tail is an erogenuzz zone… Wha's that like? Can you like…"—she looked side to side conspiratorially and leaned in closer, blushing profusely—"put it in?"
Iormu raised one purple eyebrow and eyed the clearly drunk centaur with concern. She ignored the lewd question and asked, "Tsuen, how much have you had to drink?" While lightweight centaurs weren't as bulky as Iormu, it should still take a lot of alcohol to get them that drunk.
"Juss the one glass," Tsuen responded matter-of-factly. Then she grinned at Iormu and added, "It was really tasty, so after that, I juss drank straight from the bottle… or is it a jug?" At that, she used both arms to lift a sizable glass jug to her lips, but it was already empty. Tsuen pouted, her long brown ears wilting. She whined, "Aww, all gone?"
Iormu's eyes went wide as she realized just how much liquor Tsuen had consumed. So much for mommy's night off, she thought as she resigned herself to taking care of a drunk girl for a while. "Let's go get you some water, Tsuen," she offered and started to unravel herself to head to the kitchen.
Tsuen stood up, but instead of following, she stamped one hoof on the floor defiantly. "Not 'til you answer my queztion! Can you put it in?" she practically shouted. She blushed and added, "Not right now, I mean, like in general…"
Iormu cast a worried glance around, but it seemed the others were too distracted by their game to notice Tsuen's outburst. Iormu sighed and answered, "Fine, fine. Yes, I can 'put it in'."
"In yourself? In your girlfriend?" Tsuen asked. Her wide cyan eyes were innocent yet mischievous, like a kid breaking a school rule for the very first time.
Wow, Tsuen seems pretty inexperienced, Iormu thought, It's been millennia since I was that naive. She tugged Tsuen by the arm toward the kitchen and said, "Yes, and yes. And it feels as good as you'd think."
"Aw, so lucky. I can't even reach myself… but I have Mara, so I don't have to." She paused and made intense and awkward eye contact with Iormu, then added, "She's so good with her tongue it should be illegal."
Iormu just nodded and continued toward the kitchen, already regretting getting involved in that conversation. Hopefully Tsuen won't remember any of this tomorrow...
Yuisu finally scored the winning point in Cards Against Liminals, thanks to the combination of a lucky hand of cards and a surprisingly dirty sense of humor. The girls were still giggling as they stood up to stretch their legs and get more snacks and booze.
Chione offered to bring Mimi a drink, but Mimi shook her head and said, "Nah, I'll come with you."
As they moved slowly down the hallway, Chione giggled and said, "Sorry about all the lesbian-related jokes you had to suffer through in that game."
"Don't be. I don't mind 'em, and it's actually kind of nice to get a glimpse of your world, Chione."
Chione turned and looked at Mimi. "'My world'? Is it really so different?"
Mimi shrugged. "In some ways, it kinda is. I'm just not attracted to the female body at all, and I guess you're the same for the male body. The thought of a big, firm dick probably just doesn't do it for you."
Chione scrunched up her face in slightly-exaggerated disgust. "Ugh, yeah… I guess that's true."
Mimi smiled at Chione's reaction, then said, "I don't find girl-parts that gross, since I have them too, and I guess I can appreciate feminine beauty… but it just doesn't get me hot."
Chione grabbed the hem of her plaid skirt with both hands and fidgeted. Cautiously, she said, "Um, about the 'feminine beauty' thing… Do you think I'm beautiful?"
Mimi chuckled and stated, "Oh, absolutely. And if I was gay, I'd hit that so hard."
Chione turned bright red, then turned away and busied herself with pouring drinks.
Mimi continued, "Seriously though, you really are beautiful, and cute, and a wonderful person. You're a hell of a catch, Chione."
"T-thanks, Mimi," Chione stammered. Her heart was aflutter from the compliments and her brain was stumbling over its own thoughts. She knew she wanted to stop thinking about Mimi romantically, but actually stopping was another matter entirely. Mimi's my best friend, and I've got Actia now. As much as a I hate to think this, maybe getting some distance from Mimi will help…
Mimi watched Chione's expressive face, which reflected her thoughts surprisingly clearly. "If you're having trouble moving on, talk to Actia about it. I think she can really help you out here," Mimi suggested. "And if you ever get any dirty thoughts about me, just get them out of your system with her…" she added in a teasing tone.
Chione's eyes went wide and she said, "I'd never have dirty thoughts about you!"
"Oh, really? What about that time back in boarding school, when you walked in on me when I was masturbating? You sure had an interesting look on your face," Mimi said, grinning.
Chione's wings flapped nervously, fanning air onto her heated face. "Uh… um…"
Mimi stood up and slapped Chione on the back. "Don't worry about it. Thoughts like that are normal, even about your friends. Now, how about you finish pouring those drinks already?"
Chione filled two glasses with a simple mix of vodka and pink lemonade and handed one to Mimi. They returned to the living room to find everyone deep in conversation in groups of two or three. Chione sat down in an empty armchair and Mimi rolled up next to it.
Mimi said, "Speaking of boarding school, do you remember when that ghost girl enrolled? She creeped me the hell out, but you didn't mind her at all."
Chione smiled at the memory. "Toria was just misunderstood. She had a hard time staying corporeal during the day, so she looked really focused and unpleasant, but she was really fun and talkative at night."
"But weren't you worried that she'd possess you or something?" Mimi asked. "Ghosts are scary."
Chione blinked slowly and gave Mimi a critical look. "Mimi. Look at us. We are just as 'scary' as ghosts. And ghosts can't actually possess people."
Mimi slapped a palm to her forehead. "Oh, duh. I guess picked up some superstitions living as a human for so long."
For a while, Mimi and Chione reminisced about school and about coming of age. They both shared the unique difficulty of becoming a liminal after a childhood of appearing to be human.
A bit later, Yuisu herded everyone into the living room, got everyone seated in a circle on the couch, chairs, and floor, then said, "You're up, Quess."
Quess stood up, holding a glass of plum wine in a hair tendril as she waved both hands emphatically. "I wanted to play spin-the-bottle, but someone said that it would cause tension in relationships," Quess said, casting an accusing glance at Iormu with each emphasized word. "So instead, we'll play something that will help relationships through communication! Truth or Dare!"
The look on Iormu's face suggested that she wasn't sure about this game either, but she let it stand.
The sloshed slime briefly explained the game, since some of the liminal girls had never played it. Then she turned to Iormu, who was sitting on her right, and called out, "Truth or dare?"
"Truth," Iormu responded, playing it safe to start.
"So you've probably met some famous people in all your years. Who's the most famous person you've slept with?"
So much for 'safe', Iormu thought, then she answered, "That'd be my first boyfriend, though he wasn't that famous at the time. We had a really bad breakup at a tavern, fighting and breaking stuff until we were both thrown out and banned for life. I guess the whole ordeal got exaggerated and became a bit of a folktale."
Mara pointed one hand and a couple legs at Iormu accusingly and said, "Hey, you gotta tell us his name too, or it doesn't count."
"Oh, I guess you'd know him by the name Thor," Iormu said offhandedly, as if she'd planned the slow reveal all along.
A look of understanding slowly crept onto everyone's faces as they put the pieces together. Then, people started asking questions all at once.
"You mean that Thor?!"
"So you mean the myth of Thor and Jormungandr killing each other at Ragnarok was actually just your breakup…?"
"Wait. 'Boyfriend'? You're bi?"
The last one was Chione, who had never heard about Iormu's situation with Antonio the lizardman.
Iormu leaned back against her tail and waved a clawed hand dismissively. "Only one question per turn. It's Actia's turn now."
To Quess's left, the quiet mothgirl nodded, then looked to her left at Chione. "Truth or dare?"
Chione fretted, tugging on the edge of her skirt. It's just Actia… she won't make me do anything awful, so… "Dare," she answered.
Actia's innocent face suddenly twisted into an adventurous grin and she stuttered, "I d-dare you to sh-show everyone your b-b-butt."
"Actia!" yelped Chione, but she turned around so her back was to the circle of women. She leaned forward on her knees, then lifted her skirt with her tail and one hand, revealing plain lilac-colored panties that hugged her butt in a surprisingly sexy way.
"Mmm, that's a nice ass," came a voice from across the circle.
Every face turned to the source and they were all surprised to find Tsuen. Well, except for Iormu, who knew exactly how drunk Tsuen was.
"What? Itz true, ya know," Tsuen mumbled. The late hour and alcohol were clearly taking their toll on her alertness, but she seemed determined to stay awake.
"Is that enough?" Chione asked pleadingly.
"Yeah, you're good, Chione," Yuisu said, "And it's your turn next."
Chione quickly spun around and knelt on the carpet, tugging her skirt back into place as she tried to calm her racing heart. "Uh, I guess I choose Mimi. Truth or dare?"
Across the circle, Mimi wore a focused expression and answered. "Dare."
Before Chione had really thought it through, she found herself saying, "I dare you to kiss a girl."
Mimi's determination wavered, but only for a second. "Alright…" She swept her eyes around the circle of women, starting at her right. She passed over Tsuen and Mara, then Chione and Actia, then Quess and Iormu, then Haru. She finally settled on Yuisu, who was sitting just to Mimi's left.
Yuisu didn't have time to react before Mimi leaned forward and grabbed Yuisu's face with both hands. Mimi was never one to half-ass something, so she pulled the surprised Yuisu into a deep, open-mouth kiss.
Mimi was tipsy enough that it was easy to pretend she was kissing Hajime, but Yuisu got to enjoy it for what it really was: a very sensual, wet, and illicit kiss with another woman.
Yuri-su returned the kiss with passion, until a very harsh "Ahem" came from her left.
"Are you quite done?" Haru practically growled. All of her feathers were fluffed up and she leaned forward aggressively, making her look huge and imposing. Her gold eyes shone with a hint of menace.
Yuisu pulled back from Mimi in a hurry and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. "Sorry, Haru," she mumbled quickly. It seemed Haru had a jealous side and it was not to be trifled with.
Mimi leaned back in her chest, made a show of smacking her lips like she'd just sampled a fine wine, then said, "Nope, still straight."
While everyone giggled at that, Yuisu seized the opportunity and deflected everyone's attention by saying, "Your turn, Mara!"
The game continued for one more cycle around the circle, with pretty tame questions and dares, until Mara chose 'dare' on Tsuen's turn. Tsuen was still drunk despite drinking only water since finishing her mead, and she immediately said, "I dare you to eat me out."
Mara grinned and nodded excitedly, and Tsuen started to roll over onto her back right there in the living room.
"Well, that's enough for tonight! Game over," Yuisu immediately shouted. She jumped to her feet and frantically waved her hands like a referee stopping a play. In a way, that's exactly what she was. Then she made a shooing motion at Mara and Tsuen and said, "Take it to your room, you two. Seriously…"
Mimi stood up inside her chest, reaching just over five feet high, and said, "I leave early tomorrow, and I've gotta pack and get some sleep, so…" With a bittersweet smile, she finished, "Thanks everyone, for this party, and for being my friends."
Everyone crowded in to hug Mimi and say goodbye. There were misty eyes all around, including Mimi's mismatched purple and red ones. After all the goodbyes, people wandered off to bed, but not before Iormu reminded everyone to drink some water, to avoid hangovers.
For Chione and Actia, it was effectively midday and they weren't tired at all. Chione turned to Actia and said, "I'm gonna help Mimi pack up for a bit. We can hang out more after."
"Sure thing. I think I'll go fly around a little bit. It's a beautiful night tonight," Actia replied.
Chione bent down to give Actia a quick kiss, then went to Mimi's room to help her pack.
"Ah, thanks for the help, Chione," Mimi said as she welcomed her into the box-filled room.
Once they were alone, Chione asked at nearly a whisper, "Is it alright if I still love you, Mimi?"
Mimi looked her in the eyes and said, "Yes, Chione. You're my best friend, who I flew halfway around the world for. You are my family, my sister, and I love you too."
Chione sat in perfect stillness for a moment, then a single tear ran down her cheek. As several more drops followed, she broke from her statue-like state. "Sisters…" she mused, then a smile slowly spread across her face. "I've always wanted a sister."
|
Mark is worried. After that one night at Sean’s place, things have been a little strained between them. How Sean tried to break things off caught Mark completely by surprise. He thought they were happy, that they could continue to be happy for an undefined amount of time. He was so blinded by what was going well that he hadn’t even thought of what could go wrong. With Sean’s departure growing closer, Mark is a lot more aware of what could possibly happen. Soon Sean won’t be a short drive away, and Mark can’t help but feel that if Sean genuinely wanted out now, the distance will only make him lose interest. It sucks that his mind jumps straight to that worst case scenario, but Mark doesn’t feel unjustified either. Sean is funny, beautiful, caring, and just… amazing. Mark… well, he is just Mark. Surely Sean will realize how he got the short end of the stick by picking Mark of all people to date.
Sean is trying his best with the whole “giving it a chance” thing. He is opening up more, and Mark can see the strain in Sean’s eyes when he tries sharing stuff about work. He tells little coded anecdotes of his job as an “editor,” and Mark comes so close to telling him he knows about Jack McLean’s entire body of work, telling Sean how he drove Mark crazy even before they met. But Sean seems so proud of not letting anything slip when he finishes telling Mark about how busy he is taking two projects to edit at the same time and how different it is to be far from home and his regular co-workers. Mark doesn’t see what good it would do to tell the truth now. Or, for that matter, telling him the truth ever. If their relationship truly had such a clear expiration date, why should Mark ruin it early?
It really doesn’t help Mark’s anxiety when Sean suddenly starts blowing off attempts to hang out. It scares him quite a bit until Sean drops enough hints that he is still interested in talking on the phone and Skype, but his work schedule has become too full to actually drag himself away.
Mark can’t help but feel like he needs to convince Sean to stay.
The thing is: Jack doesn’t hate his job. That is probably the worst part.
He isn’t stupid. If he didn’t like what he was doing he would never have taken his first gig. The hours are weird and the job is physically demanding, but he enjoys it nonetheless.
Jack’s day is busy as all hell. He has to wake up early today to head to the studio. They start the photo shoot first. All photos are being taken in the same day, from the promo pictures with everyone in the cast to the action shots to be used during the recording. He takes a few provocative pictures alone and with his partner. The highlight of the session is when the photographer put all the bottoms nude in the same shot and asked them all to think of it as a booty auction and show off their best assets. Needless to say, they need a five minute break to stop laughing.
After hours of photos, Jack waits around for a loooong time while the crew sets up the cameras, mics, and lighting in his set. He sees a string of unopened messages from Mark and takes the time to text him back. Jack has to make a lot of excuses not to see him this week. Both of his scenes are scheduled really close together, and he needs the alone time. He shoots down every offer to meet up with Mark not because he doesn’t trust Mark to stop if he asks for a week without sex, but because… Jack doesn’t trust himself.
After so long being single, Jack had forgotten just how satisfying it is to be in a relationship. On-camera sex could occasionally be really hot, but it was mostly a study in patience and frustration. It takes a few hours to record the average 20-minute scene, with constant pauses to fix lighting and camera positioning, having to re-lubricate often, taking breaks after long periods of penetration to avoid pain later on, a lot of short breaks for rehydrating, and having to re-do scenes to find the perfect shot. By the end of the ordeal, orgasm is either a relief or an even bigger chore.
Sex with Mark is a simple straight forward affair: doing things that feel good until one of them comes is as easy as it gets. Add that to Mark’s enthusiasm and eagerness to please a new lover, and Jack has the most pleasant and satisfying sex he has had in a long time. There’s really no comparing it to work.
It’s even better when Jack stays the night at Mark’s place. On those occasions they spend more time having fun together, not even fucking, just gaming and talking and watching silly programs on TV, normal and boring couple stuff that make Jack’s heart race for some reason.
Jack likes these sorts of scenes much better, the ones where he has the freedom to improvise a little. He doesn’t have to spend a couple of hours rehearsing what lines should be said during what position. The only thing he needs to remember is to call out “daddy” a couple of times, but that comes almost effortlessly.
He does have a bit of trouble calling his co-star “Josh” after learning his real name, and once it slips out they have to re-do a small section of the scene, but it is nothing a little bit of editing can’t fix.
Jack wouldn’t say he is bored, but he is definitely not concentrating 100% on what is happening. He is starting to really miss Mark: his silly laughter, his messy hair, the way Mark’s hips stutter when he is close to coming. Every time the crew takes a break, Jack lets his mind drift back to Mark and everything he wants to do together once they see each other again. He’d go straight to Mark’s place after recording if he could, but for now he just lies back and tries to enjoy the moment.
Hours later, Jack finally finishes up his workday, but before he can move to the showers to unwind, he gets cornered by the director. The man praises him to no end, telling Jack just how nice and professional he is and joking about the imports from Europe truly being worth the delivery fee. The guy tells him he is definitely looking forward to working with Jack again and that he will tell all his friends from the industry about the little green Irish boy that was so nice to work with.
Jack’s heart speeds up a little, happy and frightened at the same time. Networking with American studios could mean a big boost on his career, and more American interest meant more time in America to come visit Mark. But it would take some hard work. He still had a good contract with ETB, and it had been a steady income for some time now. Besides, the more successful he becomes, the easier it will be to get recognized. Jack can only dread the day when he is out with Mark and some dude approaches him. What if he gets so well known that even a newly minted bisexual like Mark finds one of his videos? He should probably get to know Mark’s porn preferences and steer clear from them just in case. Now that he committed himself to seeing this relationship run its course, he should really put some effort into it.
Despite all the drawbacks, Jack likes what he does for a living and doesn’t feel guilty about it at all. That is always what drives other people away from him. His exes thought he needed saving from a life of sex work, that he was dirty and traumatized because of it. As soon as they realized he genuinely showed no remorse in getting naked in front of a camera for money, those people who claimed to love him got weirded out and turned their backs on him.
Jack sometimes daydreams about the perfect situation, where Mark doesn’t have a problem with what he does for a living and never asks to see Jack’s videos, a fantasy situation where he can keep being “Sean” in Mark’s eyes without having to lie about his life as Jack.
Despite his fantasies, Jack is not going to quit his job anytime soon. He is good at sex and flirting. He’s outgoing and friendly, can take directions, memorize scripts, and act somewhat decently. In other words: he’s good at what he does. He pays his taxes and contributes to society just like everyone else.
But Jack is a little divided with this particular gig. On one hand, he really wants it to be over already so he can see Mark again, on the other… now that his daddy scene is done, Jack won’t be in America for much longer.
He really shouldn’t be this attached to Mark. It will only spell trouble for the future.
|
Feedback and
This story contains graphic scenes, language and actions that might be extremely offensive to some people. These scenes, words and actions are used only for the literary purposes of this story. The author does not condone murder, racial language, violence, rape or violence against women, and any depictions of any of these in this story should not be construed as acceptance of the above.
Sunday, March 18th. Melina Allgood entered the Federal Building on the northern side of Courthouse Square, using a small side entrance door that was rarely noticed, much less used. Going inside, she showed a special ID badge to the guard, who let her through without checking her purse.
She climbed the stairs, which were not easily accessible to the rest of the building, to the third floor. There, she checked in at the front desk, where a young woman handed her a laptop computer labeled '43DX', and a sealed manila envelope with a 'TOP SECEET' label on it, for which Melina had to sign. Melina then went into the small office on the other side of the hallway, and closed and engaged the triple deadbolt locks.
There was a table in the room instead of a desk, and it was inside a plexiglass 'cube' mounted on springs that vibrated to prevent any interceptions of voice communications. The FBI's offices had a similar room with a 'cube' inside it.
Melina sat down and fished a jump drive out of her purse. She plugged it into the jack on the laptop, then activated the device. Once it booted up, she opened the envelope, which had another sealed envelope in it, and a CD. She put the CD into the computer. There were two levels of encryption. One was the public key, which was hardwired into this particular computer. The private key was Melina's specific key, which was on the jump drive. Both had been created by recording atmospheric wind noises, and were good for only one use. Likewise, the CD's keys had to match both Melina's and the public key.
No, this was not 'Mission: Impossible', and no voice spoke. But a text file opened, and Melina read the message. It was an assignment from her CIA handler in Washington, D.C., and it had been at the request of, and personally approved by, the new Director of the CIA.
the message said.
Damn, Melina thought as she read it, they're sending me on another sniper mission outside the USA. She hated these missions; they were abnormally dangerous, hard to prepare for and execute, and any failure would mean abandonment, if not disavowal, of her by the CIA, making it difficult if not impossible for her to get back home.
Oh well, let's get on with it, she thought to herself. She went through the other files on the drive, which showed a map of Paris, France, with some locations marked, and some passwords and counter-passwords, which Melina had to memorize on the spot.
Once done, another text file opened, instructing her to open the sealed package within the first envelope. She did so... and her mind reeled when she saw the photograph of the person she was assigned to kill.
It was
"This is Bettina Wurtzburg, KXTC Fox Two News!" shouted the lovely redheaded reporterette at 7:00am, Monday, March 19th, from in front of City Hall. "There are new developments in the election for Mayor!"
Bettina said "Town & County Council Member Malinda Adams has announced that she will
be running for the Office of Mayor, but will instead re-run for her Council seat. She is expected to be unopposed in both the Democrat primary and General Election."
"Also," said Bettina, "Assistant Public Health Officer Susan Weston, who is running to fill the unexpired term of Thomas P. Cook, has announced that she will run for a full term in the seat currently held by Loran Michaels, who is running for Sheriff. Persons can run for a Council seat based upon their home address on their drivers' license -OR- based upon the address of their County-issued business license. Ms. Weston is running for the Cook seat based upon the business she and her husband operate within that district, and the Michaels seat based upon her home address."
"And the latest numbers from Public Policy Polling are now out!" said Bettina. "Susan Weston has taken a slight lead in the race for the Cook seat, scheduled for next Tuesday, March 27th. "In the Mayor's race, Sheriff Daniel Allgood is the only major candidate on the Republican ticket. With Malinda Adams's announcement she won't be running, we are waiting for a possible candidacy from Town Assemblyman Eldrick X. Weaver."
"In the Sheriff's race," said Bettina, "retired Police Chief Griswold leads every other candidate in the field. Chief Griswold is polling at a whopping 80%, with Della Harlow and Loran Michaels garnering 8% each, and 4% undecided. And this despite a barrage of ads by the Harlow campaign over the weekend. We now bring in Dr. Romanov from the University's Political Policy Institute."
Dr. Romanov appeared next to Bettina. "Dr. Romanov, thank you for being with us this morning. What does Chief Griswold's entry into the Sheriff's race mean?"
"It means that Commander Donald Troy has tricked us yet again." said Dr. Romanov. "Four years ago, he was being pressured to run for Sheriff, and he supported Daniel Allgood's campaign instead. Now he has again declined to run for himself, and is supporting his former boss, Chief Griswold, who is greatly respected in this County. This is important because Ms. Harlow's ads have all been directed at the Commander, and now those ads look bad because her opposition is likely going to be Chief Griswold."
"Doctor," said Bettina, "Ms. Harlow is receiving a good bit of money in donations, especially from outside the County, while Chief Griswold has said he will not be taking campaign contributions. Is this a mistake on the Chief's part?"
"With outside political groups, such as 'Friends of the Town & County'," said Romanov, "Chief Griswold may not need to raise money for himself. His own impeccable reputation, his name recognition, and the strong support of him by the Police will be formidable in its own right."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"That is so awesome!" squealed Joanne Warner as we drank coffee in MCD. "Chief Griswold will make a great Sheriff!"
"And I'll kiss ass for everyone here." said Cindy Ross. "That was absolutely
of you, Commander. I know I had no idea that was coming down the pike. You got us all good... yet again."
"Gotta watch out for those sneaky people with crowbars!" Micah Rudistan said with great joviality. "But you should've had
run, sir!" There was some laughter at that... and some funny looks delivered Rudistan's way.
"You should run for the Council." I said. "Or stay where you are and enjoy the plans I have for your future career with the TCPD." There were a bunch of 'ooooooooh's at that. I noted Teresa Croyle's eyebrows shoot up a bit, as well.
"Why is Ms. Weston running in two different districts?" asked Theo Washington. "Why not just run in the Cook district in both elections?"
It was Cindy that said "Because of the competition. She could well lose the Cook seat in the special election, and then that person is the odds-on favorite to win that same seat again in November. But none of the others can run for Michael's seat, so win or lose on March 27th, she's got a good shot to win in November."
"I'm kind of wondering if there's not a little 'trickeration' going on there." I said. "Especially if she wins the special election."
"Sir," said Jerome Davis, "will Loran Michaels stay in the Sheriff's race, and run as a Republican against Chief Griswold?"
"Probably not." I said. "I've heard he might switch and run as a Republican against Sheriff Allgood, who is the person Michaels personally hates. I'm pretty sure Eldrick X. Weaver will be the Democrat nominee for Mayor, as well. And we may get an independent bid or two for Mayor, as well. It'll be a tough fight for Allgood."
And then I said loudly "And please welcome home the person graduating
at the Police Academy Advance Course, Supervisor Mary Milton!" I'd seen Mary come in the door and made the announcement. The room burst into applause.
"It's good to
back." said Mary, who was pretty heavily pregnant now. "Did I miss anything?" The room started laughing at that.
"Not too much." I said. "Captain Ross, would you bring your Vice leader up to speed on what's going on?"
"Yes sir." said Cindy. "But only after she's properly fortified with Jerome's Navy coffee." That started a round of acclaim for Jerome's coffee, with some comments that a certain redhead with a red crowbar's coffee had been... 'weak'.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Cindy and I watched the Priya broadcast: "This is Priya Ajmani, Five Alive News in the Morning!" shouted the beautiful Indian reporterette. "We have breaking news in just the last few minutes! Assistant State Attorney Gill Haroldson has resigned from his post, and has issued a blistering attack upon State Attorney Glenn Alberts, who is leading the University's defense in the lawsuit by fired professor Dr. Jan Camp."
Priya: "Mr. Haroldson has asserted that Mr. Alberts is not only not providing the University with inadequate legal representation in the Camp lawsuit, he is blocking Mr. Haroldson and other attorneys from providing a more robust defense. He claims that his complaints to the Attorney General have gone unheeded, and he also says the legal team is deeply divided and have had bitter arguments that have nearly become physical."
Priya: "Several legal
have questioned some of Mr. Alberts's decisions in this case, from dropping the University's countersuit against Dr. Camp, to allowing without objection several witnesses's testimony that implies favoritism for student-athletes. Although Dr. Camp is suing for exposing this favoritism, these experts are saying that the University's legal team
be working to concentrate on Dr. Camp's poor record as a professor and the reasons for her firing. Mr. Haroldson asserts that Mr. Alberts is allowing this trial to become a referendum on favoritism towards student-athletes.
"In a statement released just moments ago, Attorney General Karl Handel stated that he was 'eagerly' accepting the resignation of Mr. Haroldson, and that he, the Attorney General, has, and I quote, 'full confidence in Lead Attorney Alberts and the job he is doing defending the University against Dr. Camp's scurrilous charges', close quote."
"Wow." said Cindy. "It's getting ugly. I have to agree that I think Alberts is an idiot and he's doing a horrible job, but to have another attorney on the case resign his job over it, and the Attorney General say what he said..."
"Almost as if the fix is in, wouldn't you say?" I asked. Cindy whirled her head to peer hard at me. I met her glance.
"Oh, there's something else I need to tell you." said Cindy. "I was talking to my father this weekend. He rarely looks like he's worried about anything, even when he is. He always puts on that happy 'Vision' face, even to me. But this weekend... I had the vibe, big-time, and he didn't try to hide it... he's worried about something."
"Did he tell you what it was?" I asked, beginning to get a vibe myself.
"No." said Cindy. "He just said that he's getting word that some things are going on in Europe, and he's concerned about them." Then she lowered her voice and said "This part, he didn't say at all, this is me talking to you: you know he's Jewish by ethnicity. He's always been interested in the plight of the Jews in Europe, especially France, who are coming under assault by Islamists, and the French authorities just look the other way as Jewish women are raped and Jewish families are slaughtered in their homes."
"And that's spreading throughout Europe." I said. "It's potentially a powder keg for a Second Holocaust."
Cindy nodded. "Well, I got the idea, though he didn't say it, that it has something to do with that."
"Okay." I said. "Well, if he says anything else to you, let me know. 'The Friends of the Iron Crowbar' might be called up to help."
"Are those the same friends as 'The Guardians of Justice'?" Cindy asked with a 'gotcha' look on her face.
"I keep telling you guys that I'm not 'The Guardians of Justice'." I said, somewhat severely. "Now believe me or don't, but don't say anything like that again. Seriously, I'm getting tired of it; you're pissing me off about it. Make sure to let Captain Croyle know, as well."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Speaking of Captain Croyle, she came into my office some minutes later, after Cindy went to brief Mary on what she'd missed and what was going on.
"So what are your plans for Sergeant Rudistan, sir?" asked Teresa.
I smiled. "Your comments to me earlier had me thinking about that all weekend, and the idea of Rudistan as the Precinct 2 Lieutenant began to grow on me, and grow heavily. You actually made too much sense for me, there, Captain." Teresa gave what was for her a smile.
"So I'm getting Carswell in Precinct 1?" Teresa asked.
"No." I said. "He's going to be Precinct 2's Precinct Captain."
"And Thompson?... ohhhh." said Teresa. "Briscoe is going to the Campus Police, so Thompson will be promoted to full Captain, and be the Public Relations Captain?"
"That's Iron Crowbar thinking, there." I said with a smile. "Yes, that's the idea. Thompson is black, which gives him some credibility with our minority populations, he looks good on camera, his uniform is always sharper than mine, despite my every effort to overcome that... heck,
uniforms out-G.Q. Nash and Theo... and he actually liked the idea when I brought it up to him."
"It'll work." said Teresa as she thought about it. "And Precinct 1 Captain?"
"Word has it that Steven Ikea wants to come back to the TCPD, and take that job." I said.
"Joke with me like that again," Teresa warned, "and I'll be getting some practice for the Police Boxing Matches, right here in this office."
"And where will you be getting a crowbar?" I asked.
"I won't be needing one." Teresa stated with alacrity. I had the feeling she might be serious.
"Okay, okay... no, I don't think Ikea will be coming anywhere near us." I said. "We're considering Curly Goodwin in I.A., and Bill Hanson of the Campus Police, who was once TCPD I.A. himself. The Chief wants to interview both of them before making the final decision on that. You have veto power, but you better speak up fast."
"I want to interview them also." said Teresa. I nodded.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At 9:30am, FBI Special Agent in Charge Jack Muscone and Special Agents Martin Nash and Julius Jefferson came to TCPD Headquarters. We went into the Main Conference Room, and Chief Moynahan joined us.
"So how are things with your family?" I asked Jack.
"Not bad, and getting better." Jack said. "My daughters were impressed with the ceremony at the State Capitol, and Tanya being rewarded for her actions. They're warming up to her, and to me, and there is no doubt that little Pete has two big sisters now."
I smiled. "That's good. So... to stop wasting the Federal taxpayer's money and your immensely valuable time: Whassup?"
"We've been following up on Red Brooke." said Muscone. "There's something really fishy about how he got out of Supermax, but we're being stonewalled in investigating it. I've been pushing hard about the Marshals and their actions that led to my ex-wife being murdered in spite of their alleged 'protection' of her, and I'm getting nowhere with that, either."
"What we do know," said Muscone "is that Brooke had help from outside sources... information mostly, but also money and transportation provided to him. It wasn't seamless, though... it took him time for him to get to Virginia, then to North Carolina, and then to Florida."
"Someone being very, very careful about keeping his or her own identity concealed throughout." I said. "Interesting."
"Also, I'm not supposed to tell you this," said Jack, "but the EAD wanted to put you in for another FBI Medal for Meritorious Achievement, but that was squashed in Washington with what was described as 'some vehemence and passion'. It's still a fractured FBI, highly politicized in Washington, and your name still is not popular with some people."
"No doubt." I said. I then asked, as if it were a sudden thought, "You know, I meant to ask but forgot... whatever happened to Dana Fox's assistant, Special Agent Waddell?"
"Oh Lord, I forgot about him." said Jack.
"Last I heard," said Martin Nash, "he was in England. He was caught on camera attempting to enter the Russian Embassy in London. Officially, we lost the trail of him there, and the CIA never picked him back up. They think he defected."
"Unofficially," said Nash, "the CIA got word that Waddell went to France. The Israelis think he's acting in league with Neo-Nazi groups, but he may also be working with Islamists."
"And Homeland Security is not interested in that?" asked Chief Moynahan.
"No sir." said Nash. "What I'm about to say here needs to stay in this room, but the new CIA Director is believed to be sympathetic to Muslims, especially versus Israel, and he's definitely one of the so-called 'Globalist Elites'. It is possible that the CIA is not interested in Waddell for those reasons, and he, Waddell, may be working for someone within the Company in a way that is not in Israel's best interests. And with the FBI as politically fractured as it's becoming... they don't have time nor the inclination to pursue it, either."
"How do you know all that?" asked Jack Muscone, totally stunned by what he'd just heard.
"Jack," I said, rescuing Martin, "don't ask a question you might not want the answer to."
"And believe me, Agent Mus-coooooone," drawled Chief Moynahan, "I have to remind myself of that advice very often when the Iron Crowbar is briefing meeeee..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At 10:30am, Sheriff Daniel Allgood and Chief Emeritus Griswold showed up at Headquarters, and joined the FBI conference already in progress.
"I'm here to get the standard briefing from the Chief," said Allgood, "and Chief Griswold will be getting them, also, due to his candidacy for Sheriff."
"Does this mean Harlow will get these briefings?" I asked.
"If she wants to." said Allgood. "And any other candidates for Sheriff, as well."
"I refuse to give Della Harlow any briefings at all." I said. "Chief, does that mean I should leave now?"
"Er," said Chief Moynahan, "I don't know. But just in case, why don't I take the Sheriff and Chief Griswold to my office, and you can finish your gossiping with our FBI friends."
"And y'all might as well come to my office." I said to Jack and Martin.
As we were leaving the Conference Room and into the hallway, I heard Daniel Allgood say to Chief Moynahan "Yes, Melina had to take a trip for a couple of days. Paris, I think. I don't know any more about it."
Those words struck me. Why was Melina being sent to Paris? I felt the hackles rise on the back of my neck as a 'vibe' seemed to hit me squarely between the eyes...
"Commander?" asked Martin Nash. "Your office?"
"Er, yeah." I said, coming out of it. "Yeah, let's go...
Monday, March 19th. Melina was sitting at a table outside the famous Café de la Paix in Paris in the early afternoon, enjoying her coffee as she watched the passersby going about their business. It was overcast, kind of foggy, and there was a chill in the air. Melina was wearing all black, with a black leather bomber jacket with white woolen insides showing around the collar.
She saw a man with very short black hair, wearing sunglasses that looked futuristic, wide slits for the eyes, and he was wearing a blue parka with a gray artificial lining in the hood. He peered at her but did not approach her. Then she saw an older man with brown hair with flecks of gray, and a thin mustache and goatee, and he also seemed to be peering at her. A moment later, he came closer, and looked in her direction again. Melina got up and walked along the street towards the landmark Opera House, with its large dome. She stopped and looked at it as if she were a tourist. The man came up and stood beside her.
"If the truth is already clear," he said, "what is the use of meditation?"
"And if the truth is hidden?" asked Melina.
"It's already clear." replied the man. "My name is Paul Claisson." He was Melina's CIA contact here in Paris, and they'd just exchanged code phrases for quick identification.
"I'm Melina Moore." said Melina. The last name was a take-off on Robin Moore, who wrote the book
, which was turned into the movie that won the 1971 Academy Award for Best Picture. Her own first name was used. There is a trick that used to determine who may be a spy; the suspect can be drugged, or not, but is surprised by being called his or her real name. Using her own first name was an attempt to foil such small tricks, and Melina hoped she'd never have to endure any worse 'testing'.
She also wondered why the CIA sent Claisson. He'd been involved in a murder case in her home Town & County. (
) Claisson allegedly had ties to Elizabeth and her smuggling operations, but there was some scuttlebutt that the Iron Crowbar had warned his sister that Claisson was a CIA operative.
"It is a pleasure to meet you." said Claisson. "Shall we go somewhere and talk?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"They've made contact." said Leonard Lotz in his cynical, snarly-sounding voice. He was the man in the blue parka and sunglasses, and was the escapee from The Asylum that the Iron Crowbar had protected from the FBI's dirtiest. (
) He had been recruited by one of the best smugglers in the world and her very pretty Goth-Girl sidekick. He was speaking to them now.
"Good." said Elizabeth. "Finally, it begins.
" Goth Girl Kathy gave that a wan smile. They were sitting at a table outside the Café des Artistes.
"Just goes to show how utterly stupid the CIA is." said Leonard Lotz as he sat down with them. "They send the woman that was married to Elizabeth's brother, that we all know and will recognize, here to kill Elizabeth."
"Yes, that is very interesting, don't you think?" replied Elizabeth. After a pause, she said "No, they did not do that out of stupidity. There has to be another reason. Maybe some kind of trick."
"Kathy," said Lotz, "why don't you ask your CIA handlers about this?"
"Melina
my handler." Kathy replied. "And since I came off the 'Disavowed' list, they haven't really told me anything at all. I send them information on what the Muslim terrorists are doing around here, but in the last two or three months, nothing's come of it. It's like they don't care, anymore."
"No, my dear, they don't." said Elizabeth. "They have a new CIA Director, who is decidedly friendly to Muslims and unfriendly to Israel and the Jews. I've been anticipating this attempt to kill me ever since his confirmation by the U.S. Senate... he wants my shipments of arms to the Jews here in France stopped cold. Can't have another Holocaust if the 'ghettos' are full of armed people." Everyone nodded.
"How are you feeling, Kathy?" Elizabeth asked, observing her friend.
"Good." Kathy replied, trying to sound upbeat. "I'm feeling well today."
"So, what are we going to do?" asked Lotz. "I await my orders,
..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"She's in Paris." said Waddell, who was standing literally next to the Eiffel Tower. "Claisson has made contact."
"Good." said the woman. She and Waddell were talking on cellphones that had some serious encryption layers added. She knew the NSA would be all over this international phone call, and she wanted to make sure those bastards had no idea what was said. "I want you to get rid of that phone, throw it in the Seine, and stay in your backup location. Don't go back to where you've been staying, nor to the restaurants you've been eating at. I'll contact you within 24 hours, and give you the signal to act."
Hanging up the phone, the woman destroyed the cellphone she'd just been talking on, then got into her car and drove out of the City, towards Pottsville. Time was of the essence, and her mission was vitally important to the people that had used a lot of power to help her... and had a lot of money that would become hers only if this mission was a success.
And the best part? she thought to herself with an evil smile. The Iron Crowbar was totally clueless to what was about to happen to his 'dear sister'...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Disgusting.
Melina Allgood, a.k.a. CIA Agent 'Huntress', was by no means a prude when it came to things sexual. But Paul Claisson was testing her sense of propriety.
He'd first come on to her. She'd rebuffed him, and when he pressed she made it clear that she would kill him (literally) if he didn't get his hand off her thigh. She then told him that if he touched her again, anywhere, he'd wake up with a broken neck. He figured out she wasn't kidding.
As she retired to her room at her hotel, she realized that his room was next to hers. That was just damn stupid of whoever made those arrangements... damn stupid... and what if that had been on purpose? she thought to herself.
And now, Claisson had two women in his room next door, women he'd picked up in the hotel bar. Melina had taken the opportunity of his being distracted to leave the hotel restaurant and go get some food from a smaller, cozy restaurant down the street, which had really good soup.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The black haired woman was sucking Claisson's very average cock as the dirty blonde haired woman was rubbing her hand along his chest as she shared tongue-twining kisses with him.
"So where's your contact?" the blonde asked. She was also a Company agent, sent by the Embassy to contact Claisson and get a status report. They may not have realized what kind of 'contact' she would have with him... or maybe they did.
"In her room, I guess." replied Claisson. "She is one weird bitch. Mean as a viper, too."
"That's why she's a sniper." said the blonde. The brunette kept sucking Claisson's cock as they talked. She was also an agent with the Company, so they thought. Her real employers had another name: the Mossad. She was spying on the spies.
"Yeah, I don't get it." said Claisson. "They sent her to kill her ex-husband's sister. Not that I mind; Elizabeth tried to get me killed when she found out I'm with the Company."
"How'd she find that out?" asked the blonde, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I dunno." said Claisson, outright lying. He knew that Elizabeth's brother, the Iron Crowbar, was aware of Claisson's involvement in a murder in the worst County in America to commit a crime in...
After some moments, Claisson had the blonde lay down and he rolled on top of her. She spread her legs as he kissed his way down her belly, and the other girl joined him between the blonde's legs. They began eating her pussy, sometimes making out, but mostly using their tongues to lick the blonde's swollen cuntlips and clit.
The blonde moaned as they ate at the 'Y'; it felt good, especially the other woman's tongue lapping away at her. Finally, she was wet enough. Claisson quickly rolled a condom onto his very average French cock, then slid his sheathed stick into the girl's wet pussy.
"Oh, yeah." said the blonde. "Fuck me, baby." She moved her hips to meet Claisson's thrusts as he plunged into her again again, fucking her with a hard, steady rhythm. Not much passion in it for her, he thought... mirroring her thoughts about his (lack of) technique. And they say Frenchmen know how to fuck, she thought to herself with a great amount of cynicism...
Claisson was not exactly long lasting, either. It was only a couple of minutes before he felt his nut rising. He groaned as the woman pulled him into her, and began releasing his semen into the tip of the condom that safely sheathed his cock.
"Oh yeah, that was good." Claisson said as he rolled off the woman. "Really good." The woman said nothing. A moment later, they both realized that the black haired woman was no longer there... she had snuck out while they were fucking...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Elizabeth was lying on one of the beds in the bedroom of the small apartment, listening as well as watching the intense fucking happening on the other bed. Goth Girl Kathy was riding Leonard Lotz's cock, bouncing up and down on his meat as if it were going to be her last ride ever on a man.
Lotz was a pretty boring fuck, Kathy thought to herself, but at least that's a real cock inside me instead of a fucking toy. So she rode Lotz hard, her sopping pussy wetting down his cock and balls as she impaled herself on him again and again and again...
Elizabeth watched, seeing the young man's cock disappearing into Kathy's tight, clinging cunthole as she undulated her firm ass up and down on his shaft. She was not aroused by the sight, though it was always enjoyable to watch a pretty girl being made love to. But she had much more on her mind.
"Oh yeah, come on, Leonard!" Kathy ordered. "Move your fucking ass! Fuck me!"
"You wanna get fucked, huh!" Leonard snarled. He sat up, wrapped his arms around Kathy, and almost before she realized it, he had turned them over so that she was on her back and he was on top of her. And per her command, he began moving his ass, hard and fast, and he plunged into her hard and deep again and again and again...
At least this guy lasts a while, thought Kathy as Leonard fucked her. What she didn't know was that Elizabeth had given him a 'gray viagra', the formula purloined from her brother's lovely wife, the sex professor...
Things had happened with amazing speed. At noon, Monday, March 19th, I'd been contacted by Dr. P. Harvey Eckhart, who'd asked me to go to County Airport and bring only civilian clothes, my passport, and my swords. When I went to tell the Chief, he said "I already know. Go. Come back in one piece." Heck, I didn't even know where I was going... yet.
I found out soon enough. A small plane landed at County Airport to pick me up. It was a plane that belonged to the Government of Japan. I was welcomed aboard by Takaki Nagamasa, who was Takaki Misaki's eldest son and heir.
We landed in New York and boarded another, larger plane, bound for Paris. This was a Japanese diplomatic mission to France for trade talks, and we all had some level of diplomatic status. I was given a cylindrical vinyl tube with a foam insert... which held my swords. It was considered part of the 'diplomatic bag', and therefore protected from search by French authorities. We would say it contained large paper charts for a presentation during the trade talks.
"What this is about, Don-sama," said Nagamasa, giving me the respect of my position as a 'personal adviser' of the Emperor of Japan, as was Nagamasa's father, "is that the new CIA Director has sent an assassin to murder your sister. Our great friend Dr. Eckhart has asked us to intervene in this matter. That assassin is known as Agent Huntress."
"My former wife." I said, nodding.
"Yes, Sire." said Nagamasa. "We are asking you to come and help, as you are known to them, and can possibly find a way to intervene and rescue your sister from your ex-wife... and possibly get your former wife to abandon her mission to kill your sister."
"Dr. Eckhart does not ask for much, does he?" I mused, then said "I'm joking. Okay, we'll see what we can do, then." Nagamasa gave me papers that I would need, phone numbers, and passwords that would get me back into the Japanese Embassy without hindrance if I needed to. I had the feeling that I might need to...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I was assigned to a first class berth that as a sleeper cabin with a curtain for privacy. It really was not built for a 6'4" American man, so I sat in the chair and read a book. They were going to serve a meal, so I went back into the 'common area' with normal airline seats.
I'd noticed an extremely attractive Japanese woman earlier. She was in her thirties, her hair styled short, just over her shoulders, parted to one side, nice full lips, and relatively large breasts pushing her silver blouse out nicely. She was also wearing a gray jacket and skirt and black high heel pumps. Great legs, I noted.
I said hello to her and invited her to sit next to me as we ate dinner: sushi and a bean soup. Her voice was surprisingly low-pitched, husky, as opposed to the relatively high-pitched voices of most Asian women that I know. And I was feeling a warm vibe as we talked.
"My name is Sadashi," she had said as we began conversing, speaking English perfectly, "and my friends call me Sai. I'm one of the bank officers for one of Takaki Misaki-sama's banks, and I am assisting his son Nagamasa-sama on this diplomatic mission."
I could tell that Sai was a very accomplished businesswoman herself as we talked, but she definitely was a woman. I let my eyes look at her full lips and very pretty face, then drift down to her shapely legs. She crossed her legs towards me, a good sign, and our talk turned to more personal things. After an hour of conversation, we headed to my little bedchamber...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I was sitting in the chair in my little chamber. Sai had gone to her private chamber for a moment. When she came to my curtain and whispered "
", I whispered "
" and she came inside, closing the curtain behind her. Standing before me, I saw she was still wearing the gray jacket and skirt, but had removed her blouse and bra.
"May I serve you, Sire?" she asked as she opened her jacket to reveal her luscious, high-riding breasts. Her nipples were hard spikes, standing out and begging for attention. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with lust.
"Yes you may." I said. I reached forward and slid my hands around her waist, pulling her to me. Sai straddled my legs and sat down on them as I wrapped my arms around her. My hands slid under her skirt and fondled the firm globes of her sweet ass, and I realized she wasn't wearing any panties. That just got me even hotter.
I kissed her left breast, sucking her nipple, lashing at it with my tongue, then moving to her other breast, giving it equal treatment. Then I cupped her breasts in my hands, kneading them as I raised my head and found her mouth for a warm kiss. As her lips enveloped mine, I slid my tongue past her teeth and over her tongue, and we both moaned quietly into the kiss as it became deep and wet.
Sai seemed surprised when I kissed her for a very long moment, gently holding her head in place as my tongue explored her mouth. But she quickly got used to it, and was soon hungrily kissing me back. Finally, after a long moment, she stood back up, then knelt in front of me and began opening my pants. My throbbing, iron hard cock sprang out, almost hitting her in the face.
"Oooohhhh... it is so large!" Sai whispered. She leaned over and kissed my cockhead, then let her mouth slide down over my shaft. I don't think she was very experienced with fellatio, but she learned fast, and soon she was bobbing her head as her full lips slid up and down my turgid shaft. She began sucking hard as my cock slid out of her mouth, the vacuum adding to the intense pleasure in my loins.
After several moments enjoying having this beautiful Asian woman suck my penis, I reluctantly had to stop it before my nut rose. I pulled Sai up, and she understood. She hitched up her skirt, straddled me, fit the head of my cock to her swollen cuntlips, and then sank her tight pussy down onto my cock until I was sheathed to the hilt inside her.
Sai held onto me as she gyrated her ass up and down, riding my cock. "Oh, you're so
" she gasped. "Your cock feels like an iron bar inside me." I pushed up into her with each stroke of her ass downwards. She brought her feet up onto my thighs for leverage as my hands massaged the globes of her ass.
After several minutes of her riding me, I lifted her up and eased her onto the bed, then mounted her, my leg off the bed and bracing me, and began fucking down into her. I slammed my mouth onto hers to muffle her increasingly loud moans, and we made out hotly as I pumped her. I heard her gasp and try to stifle a cry as her pussy clamped down on me; she was orgasming, her body spasming.
I didn't last much longer, and I didn't try. I fucked into her with relentless speed and power, letting the intensity of the pleasure of our mating course through me. I felt my nut rise, the ecstatic pain growing until it reached the bursting point behind my eyes, everything going gray and misty for a second. My loins exploded, firing jet after pulsing jet of thick, ropy jism deep into Sai's clutching cunt...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"You American men like to kiss." Sai whispered as we cuddled after our coupling. We'd been making out for long minutes, my hands massaging her breasts and sliding over her abdomen and thighs, deliberately avoiding her sperm-filled vagina, teasing her.
"You're a good kisser." I replied. I kissed her lips again, then let it deepen as my tongue slid into her mouth. We made out hotly for long, long minutes, until neither of us could stand it any longer. She adjusted her body so she was lying on her back on the bed, and I mounted her again.
We took our time, fucking slow and very deep. "Oh, you are getting so deep inside me." Sai whispered. "Are all American men as large as you?" Well, my ego was certainly stoked at hearing that, and I knew I was plenty larger than 'average', according to the expertise of my favorite sex professor. But I didn't care to play the comparison game right now; this was one of the most delicious fucks I'd ever experienced in my life, and I wanted to concentrate on enjoying it... and we did so for the next twenty long minutes...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
6:00am Central European Time, Tuesday, March 20th. We landed at Orly International Airport and taxied to a special diplomatic area, where French officials welcomed us with a great deal of courtesy and diplomatic language. We were ushered through the airport, our bags not being checked, and onto buses that whisked us away to the Japanese Embassy, which is northeast of the Arc de Triomphe. Once there, I was assigned to small but very adequate room.
I'd gotten some sleep and more food on the airplane before we landed, so I cleaned up and prepared for my mission. I had to find Elizabeth; I doubted I'd be able to find Melina if she did not want me to find her. Dressing in warm, all-black clothing and a black toboggan cap (no Tilley Hat, unfortunately), I took my cylinder, which had a strap that allowed me to sling it over my back. Guided by an aide at the Embassy, I was taken along a narrow passage that led underground. It came out inside a subway station several hundred yards from the Japanese Embassy. I was now on my own.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"How are you feeling?" Elizabeth asked as Goth Girl Kathy woke up and stretched. Leonard Lotz was still asleep. Kathy had fucked his balls off the night before; even the 'gray viagra' had not been adequate for Leonard to keep up with Kathy.
"Okay." said Kathy. "Pretty good, in fact. Hungry. Let's get some breakfast. Is there a McDonald's nearby?"
"Probably," said Elizabeth, "but they serve typical French Continental breakfasts like the rest of the places do." They got dressed and went to find some food. Elizabeth told Kathy her plan.
"That's dangerous." said Kathy. "You could end up dead."
"I'm going to end up dead, anyway, if this doesn't work." said Elizabeth. "But you'll be my bodyguard, and take care of anyone who tries to sneak up on me..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Melina was wearing all-black athletic wear, running as if she were a jogger through the streets of Paris. But it was not just for exercise; she was trying to make sure she was clear of Paul Claisson.
The guy had stuck to her like glue. He'd said that his orders were to accompany her and protect her at all times. She'd told him to back off in stronger terms, wondering if she should just kill him. Then he went to the bar and picked up two women, finally leaving her, Melina, alone.
Now, the next morning, she had snuck out of the hotel and 'disappeared' herself in the great and beautiful City of Light in the pre-dawn dark. She had received a note under her door that said
then gave the name of a café and a time of the morning. It also had a couple of extra words, which Melina knew could only have come from Goth Girl Kathy, though Kathy could not have been the one who actually put it under her door. Was this a trap itself? she wondered. She decided to take the risk.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"You wanted to see me?" asked Melina as she came up to the two women in the back part of the café.
"Yes." said Kathy before the surprised Elizabeth could answer. "Have a seat." Melina sat down warily, her eyes sweeping over the café and out the windows.
"They sent you to kill me." said Elizabeth, in the Troy tradition of figuring out things quickly, and understanding Melina's showing up here and now. "What they did not tell you is that you're in the same world of hurt. They want you to kill me to stop the flow of guns to our Jewish friends. But either they will kill you afterwards, or trick the Israelis into doing it for them."
"I believe you." said Melina. "The question is, how do we get out of this? If I don't kill you, they'll either want to know why, or they'll kill me anyway. I've already got this Claisson fool watching over me. Is he the one that is supposed to kill me after I kill you?"
"No. Claisson is not the one." said a voice behind them. The women looked up in stunned suprise... into the gray eyes of the Iron Crowbar.
"How the hell---?" asked Melina.
"Let's just say 'The Friends of the Iron Crowbar' have intervened on your behalves." I said. "Let's get out of here, if your friend Leonard won't shoot me in the next two minutes. Claisson will catch up to you soon..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We were in the back room of a Japanese noodle shop that served Asian dishes and also sold rice and other Japanese food items to Parisians. Leonard Lotz had joined us.
"Here's the deal." I said. "Claisson was sent to make sure you do your job, Melina, and also to help set up Elizabeth by making contact with her for you if that was needed. And if for any reason you fail to kill my sister, he's supposed to finish the job and make sure she's dead. But what they did not tell you, is that they've sent another person, as well."
"His name is Waddell." I said. "He was in league with Dana Fox, Les Craig, and other rogue FBI Agents. He fled to England, then came here to establish contacts with Islamists and Neo-Nazi groups. He's the one we've got to flush out and eliminate."
"How?" asked Kathy.
"My problem," said Melina, "is that he and Claisson must see and confirm that Elizabeth is dead, or I'll be dead, or 'disavowed' and never see home again. How do we solve that?"
"And solve that with me still breathing?" asked Elizabeth. "I'm sure I can find better ways to die than be murdered by the CIA."
Kathy was peering at me. "Why do I have the feeling that you have a plan for this, Commander?"
I smiled at her. "Don't I always?" I said, as I peered at her, making my own observations...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Claisson was nervous. He'd knocked on Melina's door three times, ostensibly to ask her if she wanted to go to breakfast. There had been no answer. He was trying to decide if he should contact his superiors, or wait longer. Then he heard the door to Melina's hotel room open then shut.
He went next door and knocked. Melina answered. She was sweaty, as if she'd just come back from a run. "What?" she asked harshly.
"Uh, I wondered if you wanted to go to breakfast." said Claisson. "I'll contact our superiors for updates, then we can get some coffee, yes?"
"Sure." said Melina. "I'm going to take a shower first. I'll knock on your door when I'm ready."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Notre Dame de Paris. Just before noon, Paris time, I stepped into the great and ancient cathedral. Going down the dark central aisle, I looked up at the arches, the beautiful stained-glass windows, wondering just how human beings were able to build such an incredible structure.
Notre Dame is an active Catholic Church, and the nuns were trying to close it for one of their services. When I saw an elderly nun coming straight for me, I bowed, said "
", and fled for the front doors. Well, I got to see inside, anyway...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As Melina led Paul Claisson down the avenue, she stopped. "Let's get some noodles." she said, as if it were a sudden thought. They went inside and got bowls of noodles. Melina wolfed hers down. Claisson seemed nervous, and not hungry.
"So, when and where do you want me to make the contact?" he asked.
"You know Paris better than I do." said Melina. "What's your suggestion?"
"The
" said Claisson. "It's near the Embassy, we can go there immediately after the... well, it's an ideal place. She'll think it's open and safe."
"Sounds good." said Melina. "Okay, we're going out the back way. Follow me." She got up and went into the back areas. Having to react quickly, Claisson followed.
As he followed her into the empty back room, he was too late to react to the figures that rushed him. Kathy had a blanket over his head, cutting off his vision and his yelps. Elizabeth had his arms behind him with her Aikido skills, and Leonard Lotz applied the cuffs. The captured Claisson was quickly moved into the basement room.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
9:00am local (Town & County) time, Tuesday, March 20th. KSTD was covering the announcement in the City Hall atrium as Town & County Council Member Loran T. Michaels came up to the podium.
"I am here to announce that I am changing my plans, and I'm running for Mayor as a Republican." said Michaels. "The People of the Town & County need an alternative, a reasonable alternative, to the cowboy politics of Daniel Allgood. I am that steadfast, reasonable alternative."
Meanwhile, at the A.M.E. church, flanked by the Rev. Joseph E. Williams and rapper T. Square, Town Assemblyman Eldrick X. Weaver, a tall, slender, middle-aged black man, stepped up to the KXTC microphone. "Today," he said, "I am announcing my candidacy for Mayor as a Democrat..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Arc de Triomphe is the landmark arch at the northwest end of the Champs-Élysées, built by Emperor Napoléon Bonaparte. What a lot of people don't realize is that France's Tombs of the Unknown Soldier(s) are underneath the Arc. The American equivalents are at Arlington National Cemetery. I paid a quick visit and paid my personal respects. After all, my Michaux ancestors emigrated from France to the United States...
Then I walked down the famous Champs-Élysées itself, towards the Place de la Concorde. My eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, and they were looking in every direction, seeing where the cameras were, where the security people were hidden, stuff like that. Most citizens would never see what my practiced law enforcement eye was observing...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Claisson was tied securely to the chair, which was tied securely to the radiator against the wall. Melina was alone in the room with him.
"Okay," she said, "things are just not right here. This is the worst-run mission in the history of the Company. You sticking so close to me endangers both of us, and the mission. Our hotel rooms next to each other... just plain imbecilic. So... you are going to tell me what is really going on here."
"I don't know what you're talking about." said Claisson. "As I told you, I'm here to help you set up your kill. She knows me much better than she knows you. And yes, I'm here to chaperone you."
"Why?" Melina asked acidly. "I don't need chaperoning. And why didn't they just assign you to the kill? Why send me at all?"
"Because I'm not a killer." said Claisson. "I've never been a killer. It's not in my blood, and it's not what I'm trained to do."
"You are lying to me." Melina said. She took a small leather billfold from a pocket along the ankle of her black sweats. "I am going to find out the truth." With that, she took out a syringe full of a blue liquid, and injected Claisson in his upper back with a small amount of it.
"AAAUUUGGGGHHHHH!!" he screamed as the excruciating pain ripped through his body...
We were at Corcoran's Irish Pub - Bastille, near the Élysée Palace. Elizabeth, Leonard, Kathy and myself were enjoying... what else... beers.
"I must admit, Iron Crowbar," said Leonard Lotz, "you amaze me. If this comes together, it'll be the best-conceived plan since the Nazis overran France in 1940."
"It helps," I said, "that the
was, as a younger man, attached to the French Embassy in a foreign nation not to be named. He was captured and held hostage for ransom by a radical pro-Marxist group, and the Government refused to talk to the radicals. However, an intermediary stepped in and arranged for the French man's safe return in exchange for a large sum of money. That intermediary's name was... Dr. P. Harvey Eckhart."
Elizabeth's eyes crinkled in amusement, and Kathy gasped in happy understanding. Then the two women exchanged a glance, and Elizabeth excused herself to 'powder my nose'. Normally women do that together, so when Kathy did not go with Elizabeth, I understood what that meant.
"Leonard," Kathy said, "go get us some more beer, or go to the restroom or something."
"Gotcha." said Leonard. "Just don't tell him
of my sex secrets."
"From what I've heard," Kathy said, "he probably could teach you a lot in that category." Leonard smirked, then got up and headed up to the bar.
"Interesting." I said. "Your leather vest under your jacket... armor sewn into the back, but not the front."
"Whatever happens," Kathy replied, "I won't take an arrow, or a bullet, in the back."
"I do appreciate you putting that arrow into Mr. C's back." I said.
"Is that why you're helping me now?" asked Kathy, peering at me.
"That's some of it." I said. "Keeping my sister alive, and bringing my ex-wife home to her children is another part of it." I saw a flicker of emotion in Kathy's tired eyes, of sadness.
"Listen," said Kathy, "no matter what happens here, in a few months a letter will be arriving for you. Would you please... make sure it gets to my sister?"
"Yes, I will." I said solemnly. I peered at her again. "Yes... I see why you came to visit your family at Christmas."
"Not much gets by you, Mr. Iron Crowbar." said Kathy, peering back at me. "You know, your hair-brained schemes are a lot like Ned's were... just a lot less reckless."
"And Elizabeth?" I asked, not really wanted to be reminded of Ned right now.
"Well," Kathy said with a knowing smile, "we'll always have Paris..."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"
Claisson regretfully expired." Melina said, after she'd joined me at a table near the others but separate, beer in hand.
"Did he say anything?" asked Leonard Lotz.
"Oh yes, he talked." said Melina. "I have his codes to transmit messages to the Embassy, if you want me to do that, Don."
"That'll depend." I said. "What did you learn?"
"He admitted, under duress," said Melina, "that his mission was to make sure I did kill Elizabeth, and then he was supposed to kill me and then go back to the US Embassy."
"Where they would kill him and send him home in the diplomatic bag." I said. "Did he say anything about anyone else? Waddell?"
"No." said Melina. "I asked several times, and he finally just said that if they had anyone else in on it, they didn't tell him. And he may have been right. The drugs were really fucking him up by that time."
"Those drugs of Ned's worked pretty well, eh?" I asked.
"Better than I expected them to." said Melina. "I've held on to them for years, never tried them before. Now that I've opened the sealed vial, they'll start to break down. So I hope this was the right time, and that it was worth it. By the way, how did you know I had them?"
"Process of elimination." I said. "The CIA doesn't have them, and desperately wants them. Kathy never had them, nor did Elizabeth. And you knew where the underground lab was. Q.E.D."
Melina gave what was for her a half-smile as she arched her eyebrows. "Not much gets past you." she said. "Except I have the feeling... that something in your plan here is off. Sure you haven't missed anything?"
"Quite the contrary." I replied. "As long as you make sure to miss Elizabeth when you shoot. Lotz will be playing the role of Claisson, and Kathy and I will be looking for Waddell while you're targeting Elizabeth. Once we spot him, we can take him out... or you can, if he's in your range and sights."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"And this just in!" said Priya Ajmani at 9:30am local time, breaking into the morning shows. "The Jan Camp lawsuit is wrapping up. Both sides have rested their cases, and closing arguments will begin shortly!"
"Legal
say that Lead State Attorney Glenn Alberts has to 'hit a home run' to have any real chance of winning this case for the University, and to overcome several 'unforced' technical errors he and his team have made during the course of the trial..."
"Wow, talk about incompetent." said Teresa as she and Cindy watched in Cindy's office. "I'm surprised Don hasn't been ranting about it."
"I think Don knows what's really going on with that." said Cindy. "Anyway..."
"Anyway?" Teresa prodded. Cindy had stopped short, having what looked like one of Don's reveries.
"Uhhh..." Cindy said, snapping out of it. "I just had this huge... feeling. Hit me in the face like a Red Brooke jab. Something's going on with Don..." She said no more as she tried to focus her mind and pierce the veil...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Melina was perched on an upper floor of the Théâtre de la Ville, which adjoined the Jardin des Champs-Élysées, a Remington 700 rifle in .308 Win. caliber in her hands. It had a large cylinder on the end, a silencer that would absorb enough of the sound-barrier-piercing noise of the bullet to not draw the immediate interest of persons nor audio-detection devices. She was watching the garden below as she kept herself hidden from view.
On the ground floor below, Kathy and I were looking all around for any sign of the turncoat FBI Agent, Waddell. So far, we'd seen no sign of him, no sign of anyone taking an active interest in the man in a trenchcoat approaching the older woman in the garden.
Melina saw the man, who looked just like Paul Claisson, but was really Leonard Lotz, well disguised. Elizabeth was a master of disguises, for both herself and others, Melina thought to herself, and it was too bad her talents had been wasted on a criminal smuggler.
She got ready to fire the fatal shot. She was using a concrete flowerpot to steady the weapon, and so was in a kneeling position, instead of a less-defensible prone position.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"No sign of him." I said. "Nothing at all. He
have made his appearance by now."
"Maybe he won't show." Kathy said quietly.
"He will." I said. It was time.
"Kathy, go upstairs." I said. "Keep in the hallway behind where Melina is, and watch out for Waddell. If you see him, press that button on that pager I gave you, and I'll come running."
Kathy nodded and took off for the stairs. I waited a long moment, taking one final sweep of the area, then unzipped my bag to have access to my swords. Then I went to the stairs that Kathy had climbed a moment before...
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The sound was still pretty loud as Melina fired at Elizabeth in the garden below. She saw the woman fall, and the man come forward and hover over her.
"Well done." said the man, coming out on the balcony where Melina was. He was watching through binoculars. He then turned to her and said "I'm FBI Special Agent Waddell." He exhibited his FBI badge with his photo on it. "I'm here to take you to the Embassy. Quickly now, disassemble your rifle. The Police are coming."
Indeed, French police officers were scurrying out to the fallen woman and the man attending her in the garden. Melina began disassembling her rifle.
"Why did they send you?" asked Melina. "And where is Claisson? Why isn't he escorting me----" She looked up, and into the barrel of the 9mmP semi-auto pistol that was in Waddell's hands.
"There's been a change of plans." said Waddell. "I'm the 'Cleaner', here to clean up this mess entirely, you fucking kike bitch!" He aimed the gun.
"NOOO!" yelled Goth Girl Kathy, hurling herself in front of Melina.
The bullet struck Kathy square in the chest. She staggered back, into Melina's arms, and they both went down in a heap, Kathy lying on Melina.
"Touching." snarled Waddell, sarcasm in his voice. "That's five extra seconds for you to live. Hope you enjoyed it..." He aimed again...
|
⏳ AUGUST 29, 2016 ⏳
“My boy, I must say your impudence is nothing short of confounding. Not a week ago you were refusing the marriage I’d prepared for you, calling me blind for ever considering it, and now you ask for my blessing? I’ve not met this girl you speak so highly of, and now she is the centre of a public scandal orchestrated to humiliate me.”
Jumin sat up straighter, his face even and calm. “I do regret that the matter escalated to the point that it did, but my intent was never to humiliate you, father. I only—”
Mr. Han raised his hand. “Enough. I have no desire to quarrel with you on this matter any longer. What’s done is done and, if nothing else, I am…” He sighed. “…Glad that Glam’s scheme did not come to fruition. Believe it or not, I can admit when I’m wrong,” he said, then paused a moment as he cut into his filet mignon, served medium rare. “Nevertheless, I’m afraid I cannot bless this marriage.”
Jumin was quiet for a moment, nodding to himself sombrely. He hadn’t gone into this meeting with many hopes, let alone expectations, but his answer was disheartening regardless. “I understand.”
Mr. Han raised his brow from across the table, faintly squinting at his son. “But you’re still intent on marrying her, yes?”
“Yes,” Jumin replied without hesitation.
Mr. Han scoffed, shaking his head. “I see. Well, I suppose it is true that the apple never falls too far from the tree.”
Jumin’s head perked up and titled ever-so-slightly to the side. After a moment of thought, he spoke again, his voice tinged with curiosity, “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh?” His father smirked before biting into his dinner. “So you still care to hear a doddering old fool’s opinion?”
He sighed. “I have always valued your insight, father.”
Mr. Han studied his face for a brief moment, then returned to his plate. “I do worry for you, son,” he continued, quieter, cutting into another slice of meat. “Disregarding my wounded pride and the media circus this chain of events has already caused, I can’t help but wonder how clearly you’re thinking this through.”
Jumin went to lift his glass. “I can understand why you would think so,” he said. “It is unlike me and perhaps even hypocritical of me to be so impulsive, but so much has changed since I met her — I can’t begin to adequately explain it. For some strange and intangible reason to me, she… feels right. This marriage feels right.”
“‘Feels right’…?” Mr. Han parroted with an incredulous click of his tongue. “Blinded by love, indeed. I had the good grace to wait a few months before fully deluding myself over Glam Choi, yet this girl has my indomitable son wrapped around her finger in a fortnight. Be sure to pass along my compliments — I’m impressed.”
Jumin sipped at his wine with a cool, unbothered expression. His free hand, meanwhile, clenched beneath the table. “Her background has been vigorously vetted and extenuating circumstances would suggest she is not seeking to gain from me.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’ve had an eye for such things, even when you were young,” he said. “It’s something you’ve come to expect, and it’s made you watchful in ways that I am not.”
“…What is your point, then?” Jumin asked, narrowing his eyes.
Mr. Han put down his cutlery, staring solemnly ahead. “You’re drawn to kind, unassuming souls, son. People with sincerity, conviction, and a desire to do good and be good,” he explained with a sense of objectiveness to his tone. “It’s an admirable disposition, but inevitably lead astray. If this girl is as pure of heart as you seem to believe she is, then she will wither — as all innocent things do.”
Jumin held eye-contact with his father. “I reject your framing. It takes strength to be good — and she is, without a doubt.”
“I never said otherwise,” he replied, sighing. “For your sake, son, I pray all she does is break your heart — and not drag you down with her.”
To say that a lot had happened to Jumin Han these past four months would be a vast understatement. To name only the most noteworthy, he lost his beloved Elizabeth III, completely reassessed his world philosophy, wed the love of his life, experienced several familial crises, willingly let go of his most valuable employee, and was now attempting to provide emotional support to the very same ex-employee all while covered in dish water from the cafe he had bought for her. These were strange times. Very strange, indeed.
“Calm down and speak clearly,” he said, his phone haphazardly pressed between his ear and shoulder, as he was otherwise still occupied with drying his hands on the already-damp towel rack. Frankly, he felt disgusting doing this — and so he made a mental note to tip service workers tenfold from then onwards. “Now what has Zen done, exactly?”
“I’m sorry, Mr— Jumin,” Jaehee began to say, then paused to better collect herself. When she had first called him, she had been speaking a mile a minute and was evidently quite flustered by, presumably, Zen’s most recent act of melodrama. Why she didn’t simply put his wife on the phone, he didn’t know. “Zen… oh, my Lord, he sped off on someone else’s motorcycle! Jumped right out of my car while we were stopped at a light and— off he went! Just pushed the other driver off!”
Jumin squinted, his mouth pressed into a firm line, and backed away from the sink. “He just… stole a—?” He cut himself off, pinching the bridge of his nose. Even for Hyun, this seemed highly unusual. He sighed. “Jaehee, let me speak to Minji.” Surely his wife would have a more coherent explanation.
“Oh, did she not call you? She’s not here—”
Jumin’s heart thudded.
“When we got to his house, Zen wasn’t making much sense or behaving rationally — I assumed his fall from today gave him a concussion! But we didn’t have room in the car for all three of us to go to the hospital, so Minji offered to stay—”
Jumin sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “She’s still at his apartment then?”
“I… I don’t know? Honestly, I assumed she would have been with you by now.” Jaehee was, of course, already in a state of elevated concern, but her voice seemed to twist with unease even still. “But she must be just—”
Before she could continue, a far-off but not exactly faint voice interrupted her from over the phone. “HEY, YOU! LADY! YOU BETTER BE CALLING THE COPS — YOUR BOYFRIEND JUST TRIED TO KILL ME! DO YOU KNOW HOW EXPENSIVE THAT BIKE WAS?!”
Jaehee sighed shakily, then seemingly held the phone away from her face for a moment. “I’m so, so sorry, sir, just give me a second—” She turned back to the phone. “I’ll call you back, Jumin.”
Jumin’s eyes widened, his veins turning to ice. “Wait, Jae—"
The call ended.
He stood by the sink, blankly staring at his call history. There was nothing from Minji, nor had he expected there to be: When not at home with his wife nearby, he always kept his phone on his person and his ringtone was never, ever off. Je te Veux. He would have heard it. Jumin almost never, ever missed her calls.
Why didn’t she call…?
Jumin clenched his fist, then unclenched it. He was being… ridiculous again, no? Zen’s neighbourhood wasn’t especially deprivileged, but it was hardly good either: Perhaps she simply didn’t have service. Perhaps it just slipped her mind. Perhaps—
He called her. He called her again. And again. And again. And again. He texted, many times, but to no avail. Nothing was going through — had she shut her phone off? Why would she do that?
Why wasn’t she picking up?
Jumin raked a hand through his hair, his mind scrambling for explanations. He did not want to panic. He was trying to be better for her sake — but why? Why, after last night no less, would she—
He paused in his train of thought, then quickly scrolled through his contacts. Jumin could not recall the last time he’d contacted Saeyoung personally like this, and frankly did not know if he would pick up. The boy was notorious for never answering his damn phone, but given the circumstances, he had to try it.
He was surprised, at first, to hear a voice almost immediately after dialing the number, but it was not a voice Jumin wanted to hear.
“We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please hang up and try again.”
⏳ NOVEMBER 15, 2016 ⏳
“…Minji, are you awake?”
She stirred; face pressed against his chest. A soft “Mmm?” escaped her lips. Was that a nod…? It looked like a nod. Jumin stroked her hair — feathery soft, like the wings of an angel. His angel, strong of will yet so, so delicate.
He sighed quietly. “It’s alright. Just listen.” His eyes lingered on her, watching the way her breath rose and fell. She looked peaceful—at ease—unaffected by the world. “I’ve done some reflection regarding you and I, or rather this unshakeable anxiety I feel over you.” His fingers curled under her hair and ghosted across her skin. Perhaps it was his imagination, but she seemed to lean into his touch. “Parsing emotion has always been… difficult for me, especially when certain inclinations of mine appear irrati—” He paused. “…No, not irrational: Perplexing.” Emotion was an extension of the mind, not an independent agent devoid of causality or reason. Though he may not always be able to identify their purpose, emotions were still logical. She had taught him that. “In any case, I’ve… ascertained a theory pertaining to my paranoia.”
Jumin waited, but no response came. God, she was beautiful.
“I don’t believe I’ve mentioned this before, but… When I was a child, I was involved in a kidnapping attempt. A fruitless attempt, yes, but nevertheless — an attempt.” How old had he been? Seven, perhaps eight? The past… so much of it was a blur. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? An event from my childhood left an unseen scar on my mind, and now I fear the same fate befalling my loved ones. It’s compromised my objectivity; made me over-protective of your safety, perhaps even suffocated to you.” Straight-forward. Sensible. Tidy. Pure cause-and-effect. “But that assessment is inaccurate.”
She was asleep. He knew she was.
“Minji.”
How else could he possibly admit to his fear? To his failure?
“I’m not scared of you being taken from me.”
She had done so much for him, sacrificed so much for him — but what of her? What of the tangled threads sealing her lips? Did she not trust him? Did she not trust herself…?
“I’m terrified that one day, without warning…”
Like Rika. Like V.
“You’ll be gone.”
In the wake of everything that had happened, Yoosung closed the café down early — just in time for Jaehee’s return. Dealing with the aftermath of the motorcyclist had been obnoxious, but the situation was escalating far too quickly for such a nuisance to linger on longer than it needed to.
Jaehee leaned over to Jumin with a guilt-laden expression. “Are you sure you’re alright with paying for the—?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, flatly but truthful. “Zen’s career would be up in flames if it went to the police. Think of the press.”
She winced, then nodded.
Yoosung shifted uncomfortably. “But… don’t we need to call the police? We don’t know where Zen went, and he’s—”
“I need to speak with Luciel,” Jumin interjected, his brow furrowed. “Do you know where he lives?”
Yoosung jumped. “Uh— S-Sure? But—”
“Good — then we’ll go now,” he continued, slipping his suit jacket back on. Jaehee and Yoosung’s expressions narrowed, seemingly both wanting to argue that point — as though they had time for a debate on the matter. He grimaced. “Luciel is the only one with the power to potentially track down Zen’s whereabouts without bringing unwanted attention to him.” He paused. “Besides which, the last time my wife vanished for an extended length of time, that was where she ended up.”
A glance passed between Jaehee and Yoosung; an awkward glance — squinted eyes and pressed lips — that was far too brazen for Jumin’s liking. Their faces practically reeked of their thoughts.
His jaw clenched.
He hated that glance.
Jaehee was wringing her hands, perhaps without realizing. “We should at least call first—”
“I did. No answer.” Jumin chose not to elaborate further.
Yoosung scratched at the base of his neck, pointedly looking anywhere but Jumin. “Uh, and Minji…?”
“The same,” he added, thoroughly exasperated, then headed for the door. “If you’re not coming, then stop wasting my time and just send me the address.”
Jaehee and Yoosung looked at each other again.
They followed.
⏳ AUGUST 26, 2016 ⏳
He had no idea where the time had gone. Since the hour Elizabeth vanished, his body had moved on its own — consumed by his search — but his thoughts were occupied by one thing and one thing alone: Her. Her image would forever be a fixture in his mind; the curve of her lips, the twist of her hair, the clever arch in her brow. Was this love? In truth, he wasn’t certain. The subject was not something he had much familiarity with, spare seeing it second hand — yet what was this feeling, this desperate wanting, if not love?
‘Lust?’ The word passed through his mind fleetingly, gave him pause, but no: This was not lust. It, too, was not something he was accustomed to feeling, but if this craving was mere lust, then he could reign in his senses, gain control of himself — but it was not so. The woman, in the kindest of ways, was driving him mad: Her laughter, her touch, her sweet familiarity spoke to his very soul, should such a thing tangibly exist. He wanted to pick apart her pretty mind, sift through it like so many puzzle pieces, until he could say with no sense of uncertainty that he knew her perfectly, and that she knew him perfectly as well, and that together they created a masterpiece to rival all the great poets and writers, artists and architects.
He wanted her. He wanted her more than anything, whether she knew it or not. Eve may have come from Adam’s rib, but her? She was God, breathing life into his lungs. He basked in her paradise, and would move heaven and earth to make her stay.
“I’m so sorry I came back so late. I had to go here and there to publicize the missing ad for Elizabeth the third,” he said as he rushed through the door. “I ordered a bottle of wine and invited a chef. He says he’ll be here late in the evening. I guess you were locked inside the house by yourself the whole day — I’m so sorry.”
She had been standing with her back to him, situated in front of the cage he’d purchased for Elizabeth, but turned at the sound of his entry. “It’s alright,” she said, smiling unconvincingly. “I don’t mind the wait.” Her arms were twisted in front of her, clutching herself tightly. She looked preoccupied by her thoughts, only half in the room; it unsteadied his stomach. “Uhm, any news on Elizabeth?”
He frowned. Was that the reason for her melancholy? It hurt to see her be sad. “Not yet, but I’ve sent out ads to everywhere I can, and said I’ll recompense, so it’s only a matter of time until someone finds her,” he said and hoped it was a reassuring response. “Oh, right. I hung a new dress in your closet. I can’t let you wear the same clothes two days in a row… If it’s okay, will you go change?”
She glanced back at the cage, nodding absently. “Sure, thanks.”
He watched her. “…Is something wrong?”
She perked back around. “Hm? Oh, no. Why?”
He squinted slightly, an unsettling sort of feeling at the back of his mind. He couldn’t place it, but something felt… off, about this exchange. Nevertheless, he had to say something. “Well. You haven’t been on the messenger as much today—”
Her eyes fell to the side, a thin grimace on her face. “Oh, yeah, I guess,” she replied. “They’re just… being kind of annoying today, so I’ve been ignoring them a little.” She paused, but then a flicker of recognition seemed to pass by her eyes. “Sorry! I hope you don’t think I was ignoring you, too…”
“No, no,” he added quickly. “If anything, I was more concerned that you were feeling neglected—”
She chuckled, waving him off. “Oh, I’m fine. I’ve just been making myself at home.” With that, she plopped down on his sofa and twisted herself into an absurd position — making a show of her sinking into the cushions.
He smiled and felt his shoulders ease; it was relieving to see her so comfortable here, with him. “That’s… good,” he said, then titled his head to the side. “But… ‘Annoying’?
She made a small sigh, as though attempting to conceal it. “It’s nothing, really,” she said. “Everyone just keeps talking about how you should be ‘letting me leave’, as though you’ve stuffed me up in that cage over there.” She gestured with her head. “Why do I need to go back to that musty old apartment, anyway? All I do is answer emails, and I can do that on my phone—”
His heart fluttered. “You… want to stay with me, then?” As he said it, he almost couldn’t believe it. He thought he’d…
She rolled back into a more ‘normal’ seating position. “I figured it would be best, for now. You just lost your pet. I assumed you wouldn’t want to be alone right now.”
He felt himself shrink, both inside and out, but he knew not if she noticed. “That… isn’t what I asked, Minji.” He hadn’t intended to say that, but around her, he couldn’t help it: His feelings, for once, came as forthright as his opinions.
She looked at him. Her eyes bore into him, into his heart. “…Of course I want to stay. I… really, really like you, Jumin,” she said, then stood up and walked toward him. “And I like being with you. You make me feel safe. And warm. And… held.” She was close; barely a foot distance between them. In a single motion, she could be in his arms. “I want to enjoy every single moment I have with you.” There was an unmistakable shake to her voice. “Maybe that makes me selfish, but… so be it. Just this once, I want to be.”
He flexed his hands, hanging restlessly by his sides. “I… I feel the same,” was all he could say in reply.
Wordlessly, she smiled — holding out her hand for the taking. He looked at it. He looked at her. Then, he kissed her. He kissed her, long and longingly, with the same fervent hunger that had overtaken him earlier that day: Her pretty neck craned back, accommodating his height as he held her face, and her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Eventually, they broke apart — both gasping — and gazed into each others’ eyes, shining.
His brow furrowed. “You’re crying,” he said, his thumb drifting across her cheek. “Why…?”
She looked sad. So, so sad. “Because I missed you.”
The three of them stood, still as the grave, as the door to Luciel’s bunker swung on its hinges. The first to react was Jaehee, interestingly enough — a distinct “Oh my God” with faithful conviction. Yoosung sprinted inside after a sharp inhale of his breath, unwilling to hesitate for even a moment. Jaehee ran after him — trying to stop him — but it was no use, and soon both of them were gone: Absorbed into that black hole of a door frame.
Jumin walked toward it purposefully, but with an expressionless dread that only compounded in on itself when he, too, reached the inside. The entire place had been torn apart; his furniture upended, his electronics smashed in, and there was certainly no sign of Luciel anywhere to be found. In a sense, he was glad for it: Otherwise, Jumin feared he’d be looking for a body.
Yoosung was in hysterics, tearing through the small living quarters for any sign of Luciel, but with no such luck. Jaehee, in the meanwhile, was standing in the hallway of the bunker’s kitchenette, bracing the counter top with one hand and covering her mouth with the other. There was a crunch beneath Jumin’s foot. When he glanced down, there was a phone there — Luciel’s phone — screen cracked and virtually unreadable.
Nevertheless, he saw what he needed to see.
Jumin placed the phone inside his suit pocket, nodding to himself with a sense of cool finality. “To the individual lurking behind my ex-assistant,” he said, glancing into the darkened kitchenette. “I would advise not to do anything impuls—”
It was too late. The man had attempted to sneak up on Jaehee and grab her from behind, but her reflexes were quick: In a motion that was quite frankly incomprehensible to Jumin, Jaehee had managed to knock the leather and leopard print-clad man into a jumbled heap on the floor. She had once done something similar to ex-employee of C&R after he had behaved inappropriately; it was just as amusing this time around, if not more so.
“Well, I did warn you,” Jumin said, turning his head to look the man in the eye as he writhed on the ground. “Now then: Where is Luciel?”
|
When Luz and Amity arrived home from another turbulent day at school to a note and a few human snails sitting on the kitchen table, Amity had no clue what to make of it.
Luz, however, had no such issue.
"Pizza night!" she had exclaimed as soon as Amity had pointed them out. She bounded over to the table and began to read the note. Amity tried not to stare too obviously at Luz as she hunched over the worn kitchen table, her eyes flitting back and forth over the paper, but she was so cute when she was concentrating.
"What's 'Pizza Night?'" Amity asked, setting her bag down carefully before crossing the kitchen to join Luz. "Some kind of holiday?"
Luz giggled at the question; Amity pointedly ignored the light, fluttery feeling in her chest that particular sound inspired in her.
Amity was proud to say she had made some progress on not outwardly reacting to Luz's… everything (she no longer blushed red as a bloodroot when sitting on the same bed as Luz, thank the Titan) but internally? Amity was doomed. Every tiny, innocuous action Luz took was somehow endlessly endearing to her, down to the inquisitive twist of her brow and the way she tapped her foot while scanning the note.
"It's not a holiday, but it is a special day!" Luz said, straightening up and turning from the table to face Amity. "Something happened at the hospital—hopefully nothing too bad, but Mom never goes into details about work—and she's gonna have to stay real late."
"And that's a good thing?" Amity asked, puzzled. She liked it when Camila was home. The house felt warmer with her in it, more alive.
"Well, no," Luz said sheepishly, "but she left us money to order dinner. Which means I get to introduce you to one of the finest foods earth has to offer!"
"It must be pretty special if it gets its own night," Amity said. Human food was strange—none of it moved even a little bit—but so far Luz hadn't led her astray.
"Yeah, I'm not supposed to eat it 'cuz of lactose intolerance or whatever. Like I'm gonna let that stop me!"
Much to Amity's relief, Luz suggested they get their homework out of the way first. Amity wasn't sure she would have been able to relax if Luz had wanted to put it off until later. Old habits die hard, she supposed.
Homework took longer than it should have, mostly due to Luz's frequent interruptions. They'd lost a good 45 minutes to an Azura fanartist that Luz simply had to show Amity, which then turned into two more artists and one very talented (and pretty) cosplayer.
To be fair, Amity hadn't exactly offered much resistance. Luz's enthusiasm was infectious, and Amity was quickly discovering there were few things she wouldn't do to make Luz happy. The delighted grin that spread across her face when Amity had shut her textbook with a defeated sigh and shuffled across the floor towards Luz's laptop to check out this amazing artist's "tumbler" was more than worth the two whole hours it ended up taking them to finish their last assignment.
Plus, Luz had been totally right, that artist was amazing. Their poses were so dynamic, and the way they illustrated the magic was incredible.
…The sketches Luz had quickly scrolled past of Azura and Hecate lying in repose, arms draped lovingly over one another, or locked in a passionate kiss—those were also interesting. From a purely artistic standpoint.
Amity wondered if Luz-
No, nope, not going there. Bad Amity.
In spite of all distractions, they managed to complete their work in the end. As Luz stuffed her various worksheets into one bulging folder, Amity reflected. She had just taken over two hours to complete homework she probably could have done in an hour of steady concentration, yet the pang of shame she should have felt was conspicuously absent.
Maybe Amity could have been more efficient in absolute silence, with teeth-gritting concentration and a need to prove herself burning in her gut.
Or she could spend two hours with the most amazing girl in the world—in two worlds—and still get the work done.
Amity wasn't sure she would ever be able to do homework the old way again.
Sometimes it scared her, just how effortlessly Luz had changed her, had thrown every aspect of her life into question. There were these moments—moments that felt like an eternity crystalized into a single second—where Amity would see Luz dancing around the kitchen to a song blaring from her phone, or lighting up with excitement at the prospect of showing Amity more of her world, or simply being Luz—and think, I'd do anything for you.
It felt like too much. Except it didn't—Amity knew she was only fourteen, knew she had no clue when it came to love or romance. The logical part of her mind that had ruled for so long insisted that this was just a teenage crush. Infatuation. It should be too much to think these things, to feel this way.
But Amity had a truth, a secret buried so deep in her chest that the poison of rationality could never reach it.
She thinks she really would do anything for Luz.
Amity had measured a lifetime of discipline and the promise of a certain future against the soaring feeling she got in her chest whenever Luz smiled at her, and it hadn't even been particularly close.
One way or another, Amity had been irrevocably changed. Even if her feelings aren't reciprocated—even if Amity never managed to confess—she could never go back to who she was before Luz.
It was terrifying. It was exhilarating.
“Hellooooo, Earth to Amity? What kinda pizza do you want?”
Amity was startled from her reverie by Luz’s hand waving back and forth in front of her face. She felt the flush and knew she was turning red— while she had gotten better at controlling herself while talking to Luz, being caught daydreaming about her was another story entirely.
"I, uh—" Amity floundered for a moment, before regaining her footing. "Hold on," she said, eyeing Luz flatly. "Luz, how would I even know what kinds of pizza there are?"
"Oh yeah." Luz scratched the back of her head sheepishly, and Amity could swear she saw the tiniest hint of a blush on her friend's face. It was maddeningly cute; fortunately, Amity was spared the inevitable embarrassment of trying to respond when Luz continued. "I'm just gonna get the meat lovers'. You know, with the fangs you guys got—" here she held her hands up to to her mouth, index fingers curled downwards in what might be considered, if Amity were very generous, an approximation of elongated fangs—"I thought witches might actually be carnivores at first!"
Amity snorted in amusement, a reaction that most certainly would have warranted a scolding back at the manor, but one that Luz seemed to delight in seeing. "A witch's fangs aren't for chewing, silly. They're for biting—mostly social or combative."
"Still not used to that."
"Well, I'm never getting used to the fact that you apparently kiss people's hands here!" Amity shot back.
"It's—it's a thing people do in movies, okay! I thought it would be, I don't know, charming or something?" Luz covered her face with her hands and groaned. "God, why did I just say that."
The idea that Luz had apparently been trying to charm her rendered Amity almost as flustered as Luz was in the moment—she was spared only by the fact that Luz seemed too embarrassed to look at her.
After the two of them had agreed to never again discuss that particular misunderstanding, Luz had taken out her phone and asked Amity for a minute of silence. The order had been placed, an estimate of half an hour given.
"So, what do you wanna do when the pizza gets here?" Luz asked. "Ooh, we can eat in our room if we're very careful, and maybe watch a movie? Or we could start Soul Eater!"
Amity opened her mouth to respond with a very calm, intelligent 'that sounds great, Luz' when two words hit her like a lightning bolt.
Our room. Not “my room,” not the bedroom. Ours.
It was completely unfair that Luz could just say things like that and breeze past them like they were nothing, not even realizing that she had shaken Amity's entire world.
"Um. YEAH! A movie!" Keep it together, Blight. Now was not the time to imagine how Luz and her might decorate their house.
Thorns, she had it bad.
Luz began to rise from the bed, presumably to peruse her impressive collection of DVDs, when she froze in place. Amity felt a prickle of worry stirring in her gut, but when Luz turned to face her, the expression on her face sent an entirely different sensation of butterflies fluttering in her stomach. A delighted, toothy grin spread across her face, and Amity could have sworn that Luz's eyes were sparkling.
"Amity. We could make a blanket fort!"
"A blanket fort? Isn't that a bit… childish?"
Amity's last blanket fort experience had been when she was five. Edric and Emira were seven, and hadn't yet decided their little sister wasn't cool enough to play with them, so the three of them had constructed a magnificent castle using all the pillows, embroidered cushions, and handwoven blankets they could find, then brought a selection of snacks in under the fort. When their mother had thrown the front door open with a slam, Amity had been so badly startled she knocked her glass of blackcurrant juice over, spilling it over three separate cushions and staining them irreparably.
After a frigid lecture on how Blights were above such juvenile and unproductive pastimes, all three of them had been sent to their rooms and told not to come down for dinner.
As soon as the words had left her mouth, Amity knew she had messed up. Luz's bright expression shuttered instantly, the light in her eyes that Amity had been in danger of getting lost in dimming. The smile stayed on her face, but even Amity could tell it was no longer genuine.
"Y-yeah, I was just kidding! That was a dumb idea anyways, why would you want to make a blanket fort?" Luz's usually effortless cheer sounded forced and dull, and she wouldn't meet Amity's eyes. Amity could have smacked herself for being so thoughtless, but Luz was already turning back towards the DVD collection—she couldn't just sit here feeling sorry for herself!
"Luz, wait!" Amity blurted out. She succeeded in catching Luz's attention; now she just had to figure out what to say. "I. I didn't mean that."
Titan, she was so awkward, and this was really not the time. Something in Luz's expression softened momentarily, before hurt flashed in her eyes. She met Amity's gaze with a resigned sigh.
"Amity, it's okay. That's sweet of you, but… don't pretend you want to for my sake. Please." Luz's request was gentle, her eyes kind, like she was worried about hurting Amity's feelings. It only served to increase the horrible weight of guilt in Amity's stomach.
"I'm not pretending!" she insisted hotly. Amity pushed off of the bed and stood, facing Luz directly. "That was—I-"
Her jaw snapped shut like a wyvern snare as a familiar dread bubbled up in her stomach.
Juvenile and unproductive. Not becoming of a Blight.
Amity grit her teeth so hard she was surprised not to draw blood. Reluctance was a stone lodged in her throat, but she forced the words out past it.
"That was… what my parents would have said." Luz's eyes widened; Amity had her full attention now, terrifying as that was. "What they would have wanted me to say," she continued. Amity took a hesitant step forward, Luz continued to stare at her. Before she could second guess herself, Amity reached down and took Luz's hands in her own.
"I'm trying not to be that person anymore," Amity said gently. Luz's hands were warm, soft save for the tiny calluses on her palms earned by hours spent flying Eda's staff. Amity could have spent the rest of the night trying to memorize every last detail of those hands; instead she forced herself to meet Luz's eyes and prayed to the Titan that her feelings would get across.
Amity was nearly knocked backwards onto the bed by the force of Luz's hug. Her arms were trapped at her sides by the surprisingly strong embrace, and she teetered for a moment before regaining balance, bracing the backs of her legs against the bed for support.
Warm , her brain supplied intelligently. Luz's chin fit snugly over her shoulder, and she seemed intent on holding herself as close to Amity as physically possible. Amity felt like she was on fire, and it had nothing to do with any difference in body temperature between humans and witches. Having Luz in her life had brought the amount of physical affection Amity received on a daily basis from next to none, to… well, however huggy Luz was feeling on a given day, really. One would think it being a regular occurrence would have lessened the effect this had on Amity, but so far that hadn’t proven to be the case.
"Sorry, I should've asked." Amity allowed Luz to draw back without protest, if only because she wasn't certain her heart could take another second of Luz being this close. “So, you wanna get this show on the road?”
“I thought forts were usually built inside?” Amity asked, the picture of curious innocence. Luz had already used the expression twice before, and it’s not like the Boiling Isles was lacking in either shows or roads.
“Human expression!” Luz said, sticking her tongue out at Amity. “You know, like… actually, what is that expression about?” Luz turned away from Amity to stare up at the wall, tapping a finger to her chin, her brow furrowed in thought. “Travelling shows, maybe? Like, an old timey circus or carnival, or—”
It was at this point that Amity could no longer contain her amusement and burst out into a snicker. While she would bring hell down on any would-be bully seeking to take advantage of Luz’s obliviousness… Amity herself wasn’t above a bit of lighthearted teasing.
“Amity? What’s so—You knew what that meant the entire time, didn’t you.” Luz put her hands on her hips and gave Amity a flat look that was probably supposed to be disappointment, but the grin she was obviously fighting severely ruined the effect.
“Guilty as charged.”
Luz had disappeared downstairs for “supplies” and came back a couple minutes later, arms laden with blankets. The next trip had seen her return with a stack of sturdy, square couch cushions, piled so high in her arms she could barely see over them. Amity had insisted on helping at that point, so the two of them each carefully dragged two of the tall dining room chairs into Luz’s room. The final touch was several of the thickest hardcover novels in Luz’s collection—“To keep the blankets from slipping,” she had explained.
The chairs were placed several feet from the bed, facing outwards. A sheet was draped from the backs of the chairs to the bed, then a heavier blanket, to block out the light, the Good Witch Azura Box Set dutifully holding their canopy in place. The couch cushions formed walls—not quite as tall as the chairs, but they split the difference with another blanket, this time hanging over their ‘roof’ to meet the tops of the cushions.
Luz had been about to put the finishing touches on their fort when the doorbell rang. Amity peered nervously down the hall from around a corner, watching Luz’s back as she talked to a tall human in a blue shirt for a minute, then handed him some snails. The man handed a few back; Luz had then given the snails she had just been handed back to the man, taken her pizza, and bid him a good night.
There were some things about the Human Realm that Amity would never understand.
“Pizza time!” Luz crowed victoriously as she presented the flat, rectangular box to Amity. The unmistakable smell of well-cooked meat wafted from tiny vents in the top, making Amity’s mouth water. “I’m just gonna get us drinks, wait one sec!” She darted out of the room, returning not a minute later with two glasses full of (to Amity’s relief) water.
“I’m so excited!” Luz practically bounced across the room, setting the glasses down on her desk with a bit too much enthusiasm, causing the water to sway precariously close to spilling. “I’ve always wanted to do this!” Amity just nodded, not even bothering to try and keep the soft smile from her face as she watched Luz flit around the room, making sure everything was just right.
That was another thing about Luz that Amity loved—sometimes, when Luz was talking a mile a minute, or just plain excited about something, she would end up speaking five sentences to Amity’s one. Amity didn’t mind—far from it, in fact. She could listen to Luz ramble forever. The amazing part was that Luz didn’t seem to mind, either. She didn’t tap her foot or glare impatiently when Amity failed to respond quickly enough, or look at her like she was slow on the occasions the words just weren’t adding up in her head. Somehow… Luz got it.
Luz’s sleeping bag had gone into the fort, to serve as some softer flooring than the carpet. The laptop was next, then the pizza box, which Luz insisted would still be too hot to eat. Finally, Luz herself had crawled in—despite their masterful construction, the fort was still, well, a blanket fort. They would have to hunch down so as to not bring the blanket canopy down on their heads, and it would probably be a little… cramped…
Oh, Thorns.
“Mind doing one more thing for me, lemon drop?” Luz’s voice emerged from the fort, that stupid nickname that never failed to make Amity flush doing exactly that, as if her face hadn’t been hot enough already.
“Any—I mean, sure!”
“Could you get the lights?”
Amity was halfway to the light switch when she realized what a ridiculous request that was.
“Luz, how are we supposed to see if the lights are off?”
“Just trust me!”
Well. It wasn’t like she could say no to that, now could she.
Flipping the light switch plunged the room into complete darkness, but Amity’s eyes weren’t given a chance to adjust before the odd, bluish light of Luz’s phone shone out from the entrance of their fort.
“Here, so you don’t accidentally knock something over trying to get in,” Luz said in a hush whisper.
“Why are you whispering?” Amity whispered back.
“I don’t know, it just feels right—Now come on!”
Amity gave an honest effort at not thinking about the circumstances of the situation. Like the fact that they were home alone, with no parental supervision. Having food that Luz got for them. In her (our) room. And Luz had just asked Amity to turn out the lights before joining her in their tiny, cozy blanket fort.
This was either the best night of Amity’s life, or one she would not survive. Possibly both.
Still, Amity had gained neither the ability nor the desire to start denying Luz in the past minute, so into the fort she went, crawling on her hands and knees. No sooner had she made it through the entrance when Luz shut off her phone light. The darkness of the room was even more absolute inside their little fort; Amity couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.
“Hey, what gives?” she hissed. Titan, she was sure Luz had to be able to hear her heart with how fast it was beating.
“One se-cond,” Luz singsonged back, nothing more than a disembodied voice in the inky blackness.
Amity waited patiently in the dark for several seconds. Just as she was about to demand an explanation, she heard the faint sound of crumpling paper, then Amity blinked as the fort was filled with a warm, yellow-orange glow. A witchlight orb rose into the air—it was tiny compared to Luz’s usual lights, barely two inches in diameter, and it cast Luz’s face half in shadow, the light shifting and flickering as the miniature witchlight came to a stop a few inches below their blanket canopy.
For a moment, all Amity could do was stare at Luz, enchanted. Her eyes sparkled in the light, the magical glow illuminating tiny golden flecks that Amity had somehow never noticed before.
Then Luz activated a second glyph, and the spell was broken.
“Luz, what are you doing!” Amity whispered harshly. “That’s—you can’t do magic here, we’re in the human realm!”
Luz turned to face her as the second witchlight floated upwards, this time stopping only a few feet above the ground, bobbing gently.
“Amity, it’s okay!” she said soothingly. “Mom won’t be home until like, two in the morning at the earliest, and I made sure to close all the blinds. No one’s gonna see us.” Amity’s heart was just returning to a normal pace when Luz winked at her and continued, “it’s just you and me tonight.”
This girl was going to be the death of her.
Assured that they weren’t in any danger, Amity sat back and allowed Luz to continue her work, discovering that Luz had prepared more than a dozen tiny light glyphs on miniature squares of paper. One by one, they were activated—Amity had crawled partway out of the fort to pull the final couch cushion in front of their entrance, and when she had returned, their tiny castle was filled with glowing, bobbing lights. They hung at different elevations, some nearly touching the ceiling, others bobbing around Luz’s head, and still more hovering a few inches from the ground. The varied light sources cast flickering, shifting shadows, bringing an almost ethereal ambiance to the space.
“Oh, do you wanna add some of your own?” Luz looked up from her handiwork at Amity—who had not been staring at Luz, and certainly not admiring the way the glow of the light rendered her normally dark brown hair a warm, rich amber.
“No, that’s okay. I like yours better.”
Luz beamed at her, then activated her final two light glyphs. The glowing motes rose up into the air beside her, joining the rest, and Luz spread her arms out to either side.
“So, what do you think? Not bad, huh?” The warm glow of the witchlights lit up the interior of their little fort as light as day, while also managing to evoke the subtly shifting ambiance of candlelight. Muted shadows played against the cushions and sheets that made up the walls.
Amity was finding it hard to focus on the fort, though, because that glittering, sparkling joy was back in Luz's eyes, vibrant and contagious, her smile loose and genuine in a way that made Amity's heart do a flip in her chest. The world outside may as well not have existed. It was impossible to think over the chorus echoing in her mind, in her heart, down to the very marrow of her bones: Luz, Luz, Luz.
"Amity? Do you… do you like it?"
"...Beautiful. You—it's beautiful, Luz," Amity said, barely catching herself in time and flushing hotly when she realized how close she had come to an accidental confession. "This is amazing," she continued, hoping against hope that Luz wouldn't notice the slip-up. If she did, Luz didn't show it; she instead let out a sigh of relief.
"Oh, thank God. I really wanted it to be perfect for you."
"F-for me?" Amity stuttered. Titan, Luz couldn't just say things like that. "Why me?" Luz tilted her head to one side like she hadn't even considered the question.
"Well, I mean—I've never gotten to do this before, you know," Luz admitted. Then, because the night hadn't already been taxing enough on Amity's poor heart, Luz scooted over next to her and leaned her head on Amity's shoulder. "Besides," she continued, softer than the light that filled their fort. Amity felt the rumble of Luz's voice as she spoke; she couldn't help the pleasant shiver that went down her spine. "You deserve it."
Amity could have stayed like that for hours—sitting among a dozen glowing motes of light, Luz leaning against her, the scent of her shampoo faint yet somehow still intoxicating—but after a minute Luz jolted upright.
"Oh my gosh, I can't believe I forgot about the pizza! You must be starving, I know I am!"
The pizza, even slightly cooled, was absolutely delicious. Amity had no clue what all these different meats were—Luz had listed them off, but that didn't exactly tell Amity which was which—but one thing was for sure, human chefs certainly knew how to make some top notch comfort food. It took them nearly an hour to eat their fill, even though they only finished half the pizza between them. For every bite of food Amity took, there would be minutes of talking and laughter between the next. It was nothing like the stifling, austere dinners back at the manor, where the only sounds permitted were clinking utensils and responses to a direct question asked of her.
It was perfect.
They never even opened the laptop, in the end. Once Amity had declared herself full and Luz had finished off Amity's last crust ("You can't just not eat it, that's the best part!"), the conversation had simply continued from there. Talking while sitting up eventually turned to talking while laying down, excited volleys of questions and responses replaced by drowsy murmurs and whispers of "are you still awake?"
One by one, the glowing lights of Luz's magic winked out, until only a single light remained, painting their sanctuary in flickering twilight.
Luz lay fast asleep. She was sprawled out on top of her sleeping bag, one arm outstretched, snoring gently, while Amity still clung to a thread of consciousness. She lay on her side, facing Luz.
Sleep was calling to her, its pull inevitable, yet Amity resisted. Under the gentle glow of the final witchlight, the world reduced to four walls and a blanket ceiling, Luz was the most beautiful thing Amity had ever seen. She wanted to remember every second of tonight.
The light flickered and began to fade. With the last of her energy, Amity reached out.
Her hand found Luz's own. Darkness, warm and comforting, wrapped itself around Amity like a blanket as their fingers intertwined, and in seconds she was asleep.
|
Prologue: Taken Away
May 2, 1998
Earth
The night air was warm and relatively still, only the sounds of the night's creatures' whispers on the air. But of all the occupants of the ancient and proud castle, though half in ruin due to the battle that waged earlier that day, only one person was awake to hear the nighttime sounds.
Ásta walked across the Hogwarts grounds, skirting around the carnage and debris that still littered the fields. In her arms was Teddy, her 3-week-old godson, fast asleep, swaddled snugly in his white and grey swaddle blanket*, his head covered by a mint green cap that matched his sleeper*. Ásta knew that she should be asleep, or at least be resting. She had been advised by Mrs. Weasley to get whatever rest she could while Teddy was asleep. But Ásta just couldn’t relax, finding herself too restless to lay still.
So, she took her godson, hung her black beaded bag* from her wrist, made sure her wand was secured to her thigh holster* and slipped out of the Great Hall where everyone had gathered to sleep. Though the Common Rooms and dormitories had remained intact, no one wanted to separate from each other in the wake of all the death and chaos they had witnessed. The past year had been hard on everyone, fear long since having advanced to terror as the predominant emotion felt at any given time, by nearly all of Britain’s magical population. Even among the Death Eaters, who had reveled in causing chaos and pain, the majority of them were consistently terrified of the one they had sworn their allegiance to, Lord Voldemort.
And when the battle ended, with Voldemort’s death, the Death Eaters had willingly laid down their wands. There had been a few who retaliated but they had quickly been killed or subdued. The rest didn’t protest as they were escorted to a large, unused classroom to stay in until they could be taken in by the Aurors, their wands withheld from them for the safety of everyone else in residence. The remaining survivors who were of age, took turns on guard duty while the rest worked to begin the cleanup, diving straight into the work that needed doing. The first- and second-year students had been looked after by Andromeda as they tended to Hagrid’s animals while the half-Giant helped with the cleanup.
The past several hours had been spent sorting through the bodies, setting those who fought for the Light in one room while those who fought for Voldemort in another. Each individual was shown the same respect regardless of which side they fought on, something the Slytherins in particular, many of whom had family among the deceased Death Eaters, appreciated. Regardless of their differences and previous grievances, each and every single person in the castle had lost someone they loved.
By the time night fell, the Great Hall had been cleaned as had the majority of the ground floor. Mrs. Weasley had been the first to conjure up sleeping bags and ushered her children into them, including Hermione and Ásta, who had Teddy with her, after they had all showered to clean away the dirt and grime of the day.
Ásta sighed, brushing a wayward red curl away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She knew that she should be happy; Voldemort was finally defeated, for good this time, and the prophecy had been fulfilled. But Ásta just felt tired . Not the kind that came from the cleanup efforts of the last several hours or even of having an infant to care for. But the kind that came from a lifetime of fighting one battle after another, from a lifetime of fighting just to survive. Ásta wasn’t even 18 years old, and she had killed countless people, had more blood on her hands than any teenager should ever have. But such was the price to be paid by those who live in times of war. Children grow up too fast and adults become jaded. And when it is all over and the dust settled, when the survivors try to pick up the threads of their old lives, they find that they can’t, that the war had left scars too deep to ever fully heal. Parents then become overprotective, and children start to rebel against the constrictions.
Ásta wondered if that was how she would become with Teddy. Overprotective to the point of suffocation. She was the infant’s legal guardian, his mother now as well as his godmother. Ásta had seen how Mrs. Weasley raised her own brood, with a firm yet loving hand that resulted in independent and strong children. And Ásta had seen how Aunt Petunia had raised Dudley, with an overly indulgent and protective hand that resulted in a bullying son. Ásta knew how she wanted Teddy to turn out, strong, independent and caring, not a bully like Dudley had been as a child. But she didn’t know how to find that balance between firm yet loving and indulgent.
With the Weasleys, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had balanced each other out, him being the indulgent one and her being the firm one. But though Ásta knew she had the support of her friends in raising Teddy, she remained a single mother. She had to raise Teddy, by and large, on her own with only Kreacher’s aid. Because no one could shoulder the responsibility for her no matter how much they would want to.
All these thoughts rolled through Ásta’s mind, but she wasn’t so distracted that she didn’t notice that her surroundings had changed. Gone was Hogwarts Castle behind her, the Forbidden Forest on her right and Hagrid’s hut ahead and a little to the left.
Ásta was in open land, in front of a tall, elderly man in grey robes with long, curly grey hair, a small fire burning between them. For a moment, they both stared at each other in shock and surprise, Ásta tightening her hold around Teddy reflexively.
Finally, Ásta broke the silence. “Where are we and what the bloody hell just happened?!” Ásta exclaimed.
Links:
*Teddy swaddle blanket – https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/552957660499903674/
*Teddy sleeper with matching hat - https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/474566879490637839/
*Ásta beaded bag - https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/474566879480736389/
*Ásta thigh holster - https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/395613148514153326/
|
I'd just finished checking in at the hotel where I'd be spending the next couple of nights while I was in Seattle for company training and, as I approached the elevator, I nearly stopped dead in my tracks. There was a large group of Asian women, who appeared to all be flight attendants based on their attire, entering the elevator as I arrived. I wasn't sure if there was enough room for me but it turned out that it was a big elevator so the ones in front beckoned me to board. I wondered whether there was some sort of appearance requirement where they worked because they were all so cute that I wanted to face the back of the elevator rather than turning to face the doors as was customary.
"Which floor?" asked the one closest to the buttons.
"Oh, uh, ten," I stammered, then, just for the hell of it, I added, "Room 1038, in fact, if any of you is interested in stopping by later."
A few of them giggled but I was dead serious; I'd have opened my door for any one of them. They were all apparently staying on the same floor, which was a lower one than mine, so I stepped to the side to let them all out when the elevator stopped and the doors opened. This not only gave me an opportunity to smile at each cute face but, when I was back in the elevator facing the doors, I got a nice look at some pretty sweet asses as they headed down the hall. I had a feeling that I'd be stroking off to naked Asian women before I fell asleep that night.
Later that evening, after I'd figured out where my training would be and otherwise explored the hotel and surrounding area, but before I was getting ready for bed, there was a knock on my door. Taking a look through the peephole, I found a cute Asian woman with a hood pulled up standing outside, looking around nervously. I opened the door and she looked relieved that I was there.
"I hope you weren't kidding about stopping by," she said, speaking English very well though it obviously wasn't her first language, "because I could use some serious stress relief."
"Stress relief, huh?" I replied, "Well I'd be happy to do whatever I can."
She entered and I closed and locked the door behind her as she crossed the room to the foot of my bed. She turned to face me again and unzipped the hoodie she was wearing, exposing her tits as she was wearing nothing under it. They were small and perky and her nipples were hard. My cock was stiffening as I went to her and brought my lips to hers while I brought my hands to her tits. As we made out and I fondled her tits, she lowered her hood and slipped out of her hoodie. After a couple of minutes, I kissed my way down along her neck then lowered my head enough to lick and suck her hard nipples. She moaned softly and ran her fingers through my hair. My hands gravitated from caressing the soft, smooth flesh of her tits, down along her narrow waist, and around to her sweet ass, which I caressed as my lips and tongue worked on her nipples.
Eventually, I continued my journey south and, dropping to my knees, I started to slide her yoga pants down. She was wearing panties and, after kissing her hips and lower abdomen, I started to slide those down as well. She had a well-groomed, black bush that I was ready to bury my face in so, after she'd stepped out of her pants and panties, I stood and picked her up, carrying her onto my king-size bed. I lay her in the middle and took a moment to admire her naked body before lowering my face toward her pussy. She spread her legs and I kissed her inner thighs before running my tongue along her slit and causing her to moan. She was overflowing with juices which I endeavored to lap up while gazing up along her body at her hard little nipples pointed toward the ceiling.
I redirected the attention of my tongue to her clit once I slipped a finger into her snug, slippery pussy. While sliding my finger in and out, I was licking and sucking her clit, which had her moaning even louder as well as writhing on the bed. I hoped that a highly pleasurable orgasm would relieve her stress because providing one was my goal and it seemed like we were on course to achieve it. I was also hoping that, if her stress was relieved, I'd get an opportunity to slip my cock into her snug pussy. I had no doubt that fucking her would feel amazing and my cock was already like a steel rod. Regardless, making her cum had top priority so I was focused on that and her responses indicated that my actions were having the desired effect. I wasn't necessarily trying to rush, however; highly-pleasurable was more important than quick and I was actually quite enjoying the opportunity to eat her pussy. I hadn't really considered that I might have a chance to eat some pussy on this trip, much less that of a cute Asian flight attendant, so I couldn't help but savor it.
She did gradually begin to tense up as her moans grew louder and longer. I just continued what I'd been doing since it was obviously having the desired effect. With a cry of pleasure, she went limp then began to shake when she started cumming. I continued to eat her, feeling her pussy flooded with even more lubrication. Her orgasm was long and appeared to be highly pleasurable, just as I'd hoped for her; she had, after all, put herself out there by knocking on my door so she deserved to be rewarded. Once she'd gone still and had let out a sigh, I raised my head and slipping my finger from her pussy into my mouth, sucking off her juices. I was admiring her body from my position between her parted thighs as she recovered.
"Do you feel relieved of stress?" I asked as I crawled up to lie beside her.
"Almost," she replied, turning to face me, "I enjoyed that a great deal but I want to be sure all of the stress is gone before I go back to my room."
We kissed as I fondled her tits some more while she reached down to massage the bulge in my pants. Feeling how stiff I was, she started to unfasten my pants then ended up getting up on her knees to get me undressed. She pulled my shirt up over my head and tossed it aside then started to slide my pants and underwear down, my rigid cock springing out. I continued to openly stare at her naked body as she got me naked then straddled me. As she was guiding my cock toward her pussy, I reached up to caress her tits again. Once she lowered herself onto my cock, we both moaned; I couldn't believe how incredible her pussy felt, so snug and so slippery. She sat on it for a moment then began to move slowly up and down. Having my cock embedded in her pussy felt incredible but the feeling as her pussy moved up and down my cock was almost blowing my mind. I don't know how I didn't blow my load in about ten seconds.
As I continued to fondle her perky little tits while she rode my cock, my attention was alternating from her tits down to her trim bush and up to her cute face. Unless she'd be staying there another night like I was, there was no way I'd be seeing her naked body again so I was committing every aspect to memory along with how her tits felt against my hands and how her pussy felt sliding up and down my cock. I was pushing up into her as she was riding me harder and, despite their diminutive size, her tits were bouncing so I moved my hands around to caress her ass so I could watch them. The soft, smooth flesh of her ass was just as awesome as every other part of her so it was one more thing that I was thoroughly enjoying.
She was moaning louder the longer and harder she was riding my cock so she was clearly building up to another orgasm. Although grateful that I hadn't cum already, I had no idea how I'd managed it and wasn't doing anything special to hold off my orgasm. I was really just going with the flow and enjoying every aspect of this encounter. When she dropped down onto my cock and just sat there for a moment before letting out a cry and beginning to shake, I was happy that I'd been able to hold out long enough for her to cum again. She bounced a couple more times as she was riding out her orgasm but I'd moved my hands back to her tits to fondle them again, not expecting to see them bounce any more. She went still once she'd finished cumming and just sat on my cock, catching her breath.
"There might still be stress," she finally said, "We'd better keep going."
She didn't continue riding me, however; instead climbing off of my cock and positioning herself on all-fours beside me. I got up on my knees and moved behind her, admiring her sweet ass and running my hands over it before guiding my cock back into her pussy from behind. It still felt incredible and, based on the sounds that she made, it seemed as though she agreed. Once my hips were pressed against her sweet ass, I held her narrow waist and began to slowly slide my full length in and out of her. She dropped her head down onto the bedspread and reached beneath herself, I assumed to stroke her clit as I fucked her. Once I had a steady rhythm going, I slipped my hands forward and cupped her tits, caressing the soft, smooth flesh and her hard nipples.
I couldn't see her face or admire her body in this position so I was more attuned to the pleasure I was feeling and the feel of her tits against my hands. I wouldn't say that my orgasm was building up faster as a result but I did expect that I'd be blowing a load into her in this position. What I wasn't expecting was that she'd still be so keyed up from her last orgasm that she'd be on the brink of another one almost immediately. Her pussy, which already felt amazing, was just getting hotter and wetter and she kept moaning louder and longer. She started pushing back against my incoming thrusts and ended up setting an even faster pace, so I straightened up again and held her hips. I left the pace to her as she was pushing back and would just give a thrust each time her ass hit my hips. Finally, she pushed back and just remained there then started shaking as she cried out again. It appeared to be another long and highly pleasurable orgasm, which I knew could not be solely attributed to my sexual prowess. I think her already being fired up enough to come seek me out had a lot to do with it.
"I think that took care of the last of the stress," she finally gasped out, once she'd finished cumming and had recovered enough. She moved forward so that my cock slipped out of her then straightened up on her knees, taking my cock in one hand and stroking it while bringing her lips to mine. We kissed briefly before she had me lie on my back while she moved down the bed. She knelt between my legs as I propped my head up on a couple of pillows then she lowered her head toward my cock. She held the base as she wrapped her lips around it then engulfed it in her mouth. I moaned as I experienced yet another level of pleasure thanks to this exotic stranger. She definitely had some talent when it came to cocksucking so I was glad that she'd cum several times already. I intended to savor her skill along with the accompanying visual then blow my load guilt-free down her throat.
I ended up lasting quite a bit longer than I'd expected, primarily due to her ability to draw out the pleasure without it feeling as though she was denying my orgasm. I was happy to enjoy the slow build-up while also watching her cute face as my cock disappeared repeatedly into her mouth. She was slowly pumping the base as she sucked me off, occasionally pausing to lick my balls or run her tongue up along the underside or around the head. I absolutely appreciated that she was able to allow me to enjoy her blowjob for longer than I expected, though I'm pretty sure that she was enjoying it as well. When my cock finally began to swell even more in advance of my impending orgasm, it didn't slow her down. She continued to expertly suck me off even as I spewed into her mouth with a grunt. She swallowed my load and continued to blow me until I was fully spent. Only then did she let my cock fall from her mouth and crawl up to lie beside me.
"You're welcome to stay here tonight," I said after a bit, "if you're concerned that the stress might come back."
"I would really love to," she replied, "but I'm taking a big chance being here as it is. I could lose my job and have to find my own way back home. I was so horny, though, that I couldn't resist your invitation."
"And you're leaving in the morning?" I asked, trying to sound just disappointed, not desperate.
"Yes," she replied, "but how long will you be here?"
"Just two more nights," I replied, "I head back home on Sunday."
"Where is home?" she asked.
"Southern California," I replied.
"I actually fly there more often than I fly here," she said, "if you're interested in doing this again sometime."
"I'd absolutely be interested," I replied, which caused her to smile then kiss me. She crawled down to the end of the bed and picked her hoodie up off the floor, her ass aimed right at me and her pussy peeking between her thin thighs, which caused my spent cock to try valiantly to rise to the occasion. When she came back up by me, she had her phone.
"Are you okay with giving me your number?" she asked, "Email, too, if you want."
"Sure, of course," I replied, then rattled off both as she typed them into her phone. We didn't even know each other's names until that point when she told me hers was Keiko and I told her mine. She both texted and emailed me, causing my phone to ping on the other side of the room. She stayed and we chatted just a little longer but then she thought she might be pushing her luck so she got up and gathered her clothes. I got up, too, and went to grab my phone but, rather than replying to her text or email, I brought up camera mode and asked her to pose for me. She did so willingly as she dressed, including a shot with her hood up but her tits still exposed with her hoodie unzipped. I set this one as her contact photo on my phone.
"Can you check and make sure the hallway is clear?" she asked as she was about ready to go. I pulled my pants back on before opening the door and looking out. It was dead quiet so she gave me a quick kiss then slipped off to the nearby stairwell. She messaged me that she'd made it safely back to her room and we exchanged a few messages before calling it a night. I sat there in bed, recalling all that had happened, still pretty astounded by the whole event.
|
Clarke didn’t think she would ever be waking up excited to go to work, but the last few days she’s bounced out of bed as soon as the alarm goes off. She feels like a school girl, giddy at the thought of seeing her crush.
Even though they’ve both been true to their word about keeping things professional at work, Clarke is excited at the thought of just seeing the brunette, sneaking the occasional glance and secret smiles.
For the first time in her life Clarke actually arrives to work early, she walks through the empty office and places her things at her desk before knocking on Lexa’s door.
“Enter.” Clarke smiles at Lexa’s predictable response before pushing the door open. ‘Clarke.’ Lexa feels her lips curve upwards at the sight of the blonde in her doorway.
“Good morning Miss Woods’ Clarke says, not even trying to hide her own smile. Clarke walks into the room stopping just in front of Lexa’s desk “I just wanted to say thanks again for taking me to the ball last night, I really had a fantastic time.”
“The pleasure was all mine Clarke.” Lexa replies with the sweetest smile Clarke has ever seen .
‘Um’.. Clarke starts, before pausing and looking at her feet
“I feel a little silly asking this, but I’m going to Ravens thing tonight, and I was just thinking if you had nothing on and if you felt like coming, you would be more than welcome to join us.”
Lexa gets up from her seat and rounds the table and stands directly in front of the blonde. Lexa reaches over and takes Clarke’s hands in her own. “Why would you feel silly asking me that Clarke”?
Lexa questions with a gentle smile.
“Oh I don’t know.” Clarke laughs. “Maybe cause last night you took me to a glamorous ball and now I’m asking you to come with me to Robot wars.”
Lexa lets out a small chuckle “To be honest with you Clarke, a night of Robot wars sounds way more appealing to me than a charity ball. I’d love to come.”
Clarke’s smile widens as she leans in and places a chaste kiss on Lexa’s lips. Clarke only means for it to be a peck, but after her lips leave Lexa’s she lingers for a few seconds. Lexa can feel the blonde’s warm breath on her lips and her perfume is intoxicating. Lexa can’t take it.
Lexa drops Clarke’s hands and grabs the blonde by the waist pulling their bodies together as she captures Clarke’s lips, initiating a searing kiss. Their lips move together perfectly, Clarke feels Lexa’s tongue flick at her bottom lip, Clarke opens her mouth and Lexa doesn’t waste any time pushing her tongue in. Clarke can’t stop the moan that escapes her lips, her hips buck forward pushing Lexa back against the desk.
“Fuck wait Lex. We’re not supposed to”
Clarke’s words disappear into thin air when she feels Lexa’s hand slide under her shirt, brushing against her bare skin.
Clarke pushes into her body so the brunette is pressed hard up against the desk. Lexa moans, it’s a needy moan, and Clarke wants to give her what she needs.
Clarke pushes one of her legs up between Lexa’s thighs and is delighted by the desperate moan that leaves her boss’s mouth at the contact.
Clarke runs one of her hands up Lexa’s side, brushing the side of her breast, when she feels Lexa’s thighs clamp down on her leg at that exact moment she takes it as an invitation and brings her hand up and begins gently palming and squeezing the brunettes breast.
“Fuck Clarke.” Lexa breathes.
“God, we need to stop now.”
Clarke’s leg pushes harder into Lexa and the blonde has never heard anything sexier than the moan it elicits from the brunette.
“Fuck Lexa.” Clarke moans into Lexa’s mouth. “I want you.”
Lexa at this point is unashamedly grinding down on Clarke’s leg, desperate for whatever friction she can get. It’s not enough.
The brunette grabs one of Clarke’s hands and starts to guide it into the front of her pants. Clarke takes the hint and begins to slide her hand down further, slipping her fingers under Lexa’s panties, Clarke can feel the heat from Lexa’s centre before she even reaches it.
Just as her fingers are about to glide into Lexa’s dripping wet folds, the pair are interrupted by the phone on Lexa’s desk ringing.
The noise startles them and Clarke jumps away from Lexa like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
Lexa takes a second to catch her breath before answering the phone.
Clarke stays where she is, trying to compose herself as she hears Lexa finish up the short conversation. The brunette hangs up the phone and the pair just stare at one another for a moment, neither moving an inch.
Clarke is the first to speak
“I’m sorry Lexa. I guess I kind of lost control there.”
“It’s okay Clarke. I think we both did. Maybe we should both just get to work now.”
“Of course.” Clarke says as she stumbles towards the door.
“Call out if there’s anything you need, otherwise I might try to keep my distance for the rest of the day, cause um well to be honest I’m just really wound up right now and I don’t think I can safely be near you.” Lexa chuckles a little before giving Clarke a slight nod
“I think that would be wise.” The brunette says with a sheepish smile.
Clarke walks out of the office and does indeed keep her distance for the rest of the day. At one point, she even thinks about rushing home on her lunch break to take a cold shower, but she knows she wouldn’t have time to make it there and back.
As 5:30 rolls around Clarke begins to collect her things, before leaving she pops her head into Lexa’s office, not daring to actually enter.
‘Hey.’ She gets Lexa’s attention.
Lexa looks up from her computer screen and locks eyes with the blonde in the doorway.
‘Hey.’ she says back with a smile.
“So, um tonight.” Clarke starts. “The event is only a couple of blocks from my place, so you can just meet me at mine around 7. It should be a lot of fun, you’ll get to meet some of my friends. They’re a really great bunch,”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Lexa says through a gentle smile.
“Okay cool. I’ll see you a bit later then” Clarke says before quickly stepping back and closing the door, afraid that if she looks at Lexa any longer she’ll lose her self-control.
“Oh so we get to meet the commander tonight”? A thin girl with dark hair and strong cheekbones says as she rummages through Clarke’s fridge.
“Yes, you do. But Octavia” Clarke pleads. “No interrogating her or asking her what her intentions are with me or any of that. Okay!”
“Clarke.” Octavia argues. “that’s the friends job! Raven told me what happened here last night before she took you to that ball. She sounds like a bit of a sex maniac! I gotta make sure she’s not just using you for your hot body!”
‘Octavia!’ Clarke groans. ‘I’m serious okay. We’ve only just started this thing and it’s going really well. It’s something new for both of us. The last thing Lexa needs is someone giving her the 3rd degree. Please. Just be nice and try not to scare her away.
Lincoln, can you please keep an eye on her tonight”?
A tall muscular man with dark skin and a shaved head appears behind Octavia and wraps his arm around the petite girls’ waist.
“I’ll do my best” He says, before placing a kiss on her neck. “But you know I’ve never been able to control this one” Lincoln finishes with a chuckle.
“Damn straight” Octavia grins up at her boyfriend.
“Ugh.” Clarke groans. ‘Where are Jasper and Monty? Are they meeting us here?” The blonde questions her friends.
“No.” Octavia replies. “They’re helping Raven set up, they’ll come find us once we take our seats.”
There is a knock on the door. Clarke looks down at her watch. 7 on the dot. She throws a warning glare at Octavia before heading over and opening the door.
“Hey you”. Clarke greets the brunette.
Lexa is wearing Black skinny jeans with black boots and a white V neck T shirt, with her hair up in a high ponytail.
It’s the most casual Clarke has ever seen her and she looks gorgeous.
“Hey yourself.” Lexa says as she steps forward cupping Clarke’s cheek and placing a chaste kiss on her lips.
“You look beautiful as always” she tells the blonde.
Clarke is dressed much the same as Lexa, Black skinny jeans and a t shirt, she has a flannel on top of the t shirt though, unbuttoned and wearing high top all stars.
“Thanks” Clarke blushes a little. “But look at you!” The blonde says with a grin. ‘I wasn’t sure if you owned casual clothes or if you just had a wardrobe full of power suits and beautiful dresses.”
Lexa lets out a little giggle, she’s about to reply when the sound of someone clearing their throat loudly draws both their attention.
The pair look back into the apartment to find Octavia staring at them with her arms crossed with Lincoln standing behind her looking a little embarrassed.
“Are you guys gonna stand in the door way all night? Or are you gonna introduce us to your new friend Clarke.” Octavia smirks.
“Oh god.” Clarke groans. She takes Lexa’s hand and looks up into her green eyes. “I apologize for her in advance.” Clarke says as she pulls Lexa into the apartment.
“Octavia, Lincoln, this is Lexa woods. Lexa this is Octavia and Lincoln.” Clarke points at everybody as she says their names.
“It’s very nice to meet you both.” Lexa speaks first.
“Yeh you too.” Lincoln chimes in when Octavia remains silent.
The tall man steps forward and offers his hand.
“Don’t mind this one.” Lincoln says nodding toward Octavia as he shakes Lexa’s hand. “her people skills are a bit lacking”
At that Octavia elbows her boyfriend in the ribs and extends her hand out to Lexa.
“Just taking a moment to size you up.” She says with a smirk as they shake hands. “Clarkey seems pretty smitten with you, gotta make sure your good enough for our girl.”
Lexa looks over at Clarke who at this point has her face buried in her hands and is shaking her head.
“Well Clarke is lucky to have such a protective friend. But from what I’ve seen, Clarke has no trouble taking care of herself. If it brings you any piece of mind I can assure you that my only desire is to make Clarke happy. I find myself quite smitten with her too” Lexa say’s flicking her eyes over toward the blonde.
Clarke is looking right back at her, eyes a little wide at Lexa’s frankness. She can’t help the smile that’s creeping onto her lips.
“Alright alright.” Octavia breaks up their little moment ‘’You guys are kind of gross. Let’s get out of here before I’m sick”
“Oh as if you and Lincoln where any better when you two first started dating.” Clarke teases her friend.
They all head out the door and make their way to the venue. Clarke and Lexa are hand in hand, while Lincoln walks with his arm draped over Octavia’s shoulder. They all get better acquainted as they walk, the conversation is easy and free flowing. Lexa is charming as always and Clarke can tell that her friends are impressed by her.
They enter the venue and find their seats, it’s not too long before they’re joined by two more of Clarkes friends. It’s the tall skinny guy with scruffy hair hidden behind the big goggles he’s wearing on his head that speaks first.
“Hey guys! Good seats.” His eyes dart over to Lexa. “And who’s our new friend?” He asks with a sleazy smirk.
“First of all, this is Lexa…She’s with me.” Clarke says giving her friend a stern glare. “Lexa, this is Jasper, don’t pay attention to anything he says or does. ”Lexa giggles a bit at Clarkes introduction.
“And secondly, what the hell is with the goggles?”
“Okay Okay.” The boy replies struggling to drag his eyes away from Lexa “Message received.” He laughs. “Nice to meet you Lexa” he says with a nod towards the brunette. “The goggles.” He points to his head “I had to do a bit of last minute welding on Rae’s bot. All about the eye protection, but now I’m thinking fashion statement. They look kind of cool yeh?”
Clarke, Lincoln and Octavia all roll their eyes in unison and Lexa is just watching, quite amused by the exchange.
“Alright.” Jasper booms, clasping his hands together. “Beers all round?” He surveys the group seeing all heads nodding.
“Okay! Come on Monty” He whacks his friend on the chest as he starts walking back in the direction they came from.
“Let’s get these guys lubricated.”
They return a short time later handing out the beers as everyone is getting settled in as the first round begins.
Watching Robots killing each other isn’t exactly Clarke’s idea of fun. She’s been to a few of these things with Raven and has found them all deeply boring. Except of course when Ravens robot is on, then she’s on her feet cheering and clapping louder than anyone.
Halfway into the first-round Clarke notices that Lexa seems genuinely enthralled by the display. She’s sitting on the edge of her seat watching the fight intently.
“I never would have taken you for a robot wars fan.” Clarke says, nudging the brunette with her elbow.
“Well Clarke, I do design and program drones for a living.” Lexa replies. “I guess you could say this is kind of right up my alley” she finishes with a smile.
“Oh yeh, I didn’t think of that. Sometimes I forget that you’re really a big nerd.” The blonde says with a cheeky smirk.
Lexa just smiles back at her before reaching over and taking Clarke’s hand in her own before all of her attention is back on the fight.
The night is going really well, Raven has won all of her fights so far and is into the final round. When Lexa can drag her attention away from the robots she’s having good easy conversations with Clarkes friends.
The couple are snuggled up close to each other, holding hands, fingers gently brushing along each other’s skin, occasionally glancing and smiling at one another. None of which has gone un noticed by Clarke’s friends, who are somewhat un accustomed to seeing the blonde being so intimate with someone.
Clarke has noticed them whispering between themselves a few times looking over at the pair with big smiles on their lips. The blonde knows their talking about her but she doesn’t even care. Whatever this is she’s doing with Lexa, it feels right. More right than anything else she’s ever felt before.
The final fight is about to start, the small group of friends make enough noise to raise the roof when raven enters the ring with her Robot. Raven wins the fight with relative ease, her friends cheer and whistle as she is presented with the trophy and prize money.
After she’s done with all the formalities Raven finds her friends at their seats.
They all cheer and whistle as she approaches. She dramatically bows and holds her hand over her chest “Thank you, thank you.” She plays along.
“I think this call for a celebration bitches.” The petite brunette yells “drinks are on me” she says holding up her giant novelty check. This only makes her friends cheer more.
The group set off the ‘the drop ship’. It’s a bar that’s just around the corner from Clarke’s apartment. It’s their usual hang out spot.
Octavia’s brother Bellamy owns it, so they get cheap drinks.
As the group enter they find a booth, it’s not overly busy being a Thursday night and all, but there’s a decent enough crowd, even a small dance floor happening.
Octavia spots her brother behind the bar and calls out.
“Hey Bell!, Get over here.”
Bellamy makes his way over with a tray of beers.
“First round on the house for the robot queen!”
Bellamy says flashing a wide smile at Raven
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it. Bloody Murphy didn’t show up again and I just couldn’t get away.” He explains.
“it’s all good Bell.” Raven smiles back. “You just keep those free drinks coming and all will be forgiven.”
Bellamy’s gaze drifts to Lexa. Clarke notices and introduces the pair.
“Oh hey Bell, this is Lexa. Lexa this is Bellamy. He’s Octavia’s brother, he owns this place.”
Bellamy leans over and offers his hand with a big smile. ‘Hey, nice to meet you.”
He’s tall and looks fit, his hair is a little shaggy. When he smiles, Lexa notices his nose and cheeks are dusted with freckles.
Lexa shakes his hand.
“It’s very nice to meet you” She smiles back.
Bellamy’s eyes flick over to Clarke once he is standing straight again. His smile turns into more of a smirk and Lexa can tell he’s saying something to Clarke with his eyes, to which Clarke just rolls her eyes.
“Alright guys.”
Bellamy waves his hands in the air getting everyone’s attention.
“Free drinks for Rae for the rest of the night. The rest of you cheap skates are paying from now on”
Raven cheers but everyone else boo’s and in unison begin throwing coasters and straws and anything else they can find on the table at him as he makes his way back to the bar.
Clarke is practically sitting on top of Lexa, with her arm lopped through Lexa’s and her chin resting on the brunette’s shoulder.
Lexa places a hand on Clarke’s leg and squeezes gently.
Clarke looks up into Lexa’s green eyes.
“What was that look about.” Lexa questions. “with Bellamy?”
Clarke sits up a little straighter
“Oh that.” Clarke waves a hand though the air.
“That was nothing.”
Lexa quirks an eyebrow at Clarke, clearly not content with the answer.
“Really.” Clarke Insists. ‘It’s silly’
Clarke doesn’t really want to continue, but she can tell Lexa is curious and she doesn’t want her to think it’s something more than it is.
‘It’s just, Bellamy and I have always been a little bit competitive, since we we’re kids. We all went to high school together and Bellamy and I always found ourselves competing against each other one way or another. In sports and academia, we even both ran for school captain. It’s always been pretty good natured though, we’ve always been good friends.
Once we got a little older our competitiveness extended to our dating life, I guess you’d say. We would compete for the same people, we’d always show off to each other if one of us had picked up someone really hot.”
Clarke laughs to herself.
“God! It sounds so shallow and immature when I say it out loud.
Anyway, the point is, that look Bellamy gave me was just a nod of approval for you, He was saying I’ve done well”
Clarke looks at the brunette who has a small grin on her face.
“So I’m hot?” Lexa laughs
“Lexa.” Clarke whines, “Please don’t tease me about this, I know how stupid it is.”
Clarke snakes her arm around the Brunettes waist and pulls her closer before speaking into her neck.
“And fuck yes, you’re hot.” Clarke rasps.
“If I still gave a fuck about that stupid competition crap, I’d be very happy cause I know there’s no way Bell could beat me now.”
With her face still buried in Lexa’s neck Clarke starts placing wet kisses on Lexa’s soft skin.
An involuntary moan escapes Lexa’s lips and her hand that is still resting on Clarke’s thigh grips down hard.
“AH hem.” Octavia clears her throat loudly, drawing both girl’s attention.
“You guys realize you’re not alone here right?” Octavia says with a huge smirk. Lexa sits up straight, blushing a little and Clarke does the same.
“Dammit O.” Japer cries. “Why the hell would you break that up? It was just getting good!”
Clarke throws a napkin at Jaspers face.
“That’s enough out of you.” She warns the boy.
“Let’s go dance.” Clarke leans in and whispers to Lexa.
Lexa doesn’t normally dance, but with a few drinks under her belt and the prospect of having Clarke rubbing up against her body, it’s an offer Lexa can’t refuse.
“Out of the way Jasper.”
Clarke yells over the music to the boy who is currently blocking the two girls in the booth.
“We’re gonna go dance.”
Jasper jumps out of the booth to let the girls pass.“Since I’m up. Drinks all round?” He asks, receiving a loud cheer from everyone in the booth. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Clarke leads Lexa onto of the dance floor, once they reach the middle Clarke turns and faces he brunette. Tove Lo is pumping over the speakers.
Clarke starts swaying her hips and pulls Lexa in closer, Lexa isn’t quite sure how to dance to this, she’s more of a slow dance kind of girl.
The brunette twirls her date around and pulls her so Clarke’s back is flush against her front.
Clarke starts swaying her hips again, this time Lexa grips onto her waist and pulls her in tight against her body matching her movements.
The lyrics of the song filling the air around them
Now if we’re talking body
You got a perfect one, so put it on me
Swear it won’t take you long
If you love me right
We fuck for life, on and on and on
Lexa brings a hand up and brushes the hair of Clarke’s neck before dipping down and placing wet kisses on the blonde’s soft skin.
Lexa continues to work on Clarke’s neck as she brings her arm back down and joins it with her other arm in wrapping around Clarke’s waist holding her as close as she physically can, swaying to the beat of the song. Clarke rests one of her hands on Lexa’s arm and brings the other up behind her and slides it into Lexa’s hair.
Clarke’s friends are all watching the spectacle from their booth with their jaws hanging.
“Jesus Christ.” Raven speaks up. “I’m gonna go get another drink before I pop a boner watching these two!”
“You joke,” Jasper replies. “But I’m telling you the struggle is real”
That invites a collective
“Ewwww”
from the rest of the group as they all shuffle to put some distance between themselves and the boy.
Back on the dance floor it’s all getting a bit much for Lexa, Clarke is grinding her arse into Lexa’s front as Lexa continues kissing the blondes neck and running her hands up and down Clarke’s sides.
Lexa can’t take it anymore, she needs to kiss her.
Lexa grabs Clarkes waist, spins her around smashing her lips onto Clarkes. Clarke is ready for it, she’s been wanting it just as much.
Clarkes hands meet around Lexa’s neck and Lexa pulls Clarke as tight into herself as she can before she lets her hands start roaming all over Clarke’s body before they find a home on her lower back, she lets one hand wander down even further giving Clarke’s arse a gentle squeeze that causes Clarke to moan into her mouth.
Lexa swallows the moan and pushes her tongue deep into Clarke’s warm mouth. Clarke sucks down on Lexa’s tongue and now it’s Lexa who’s moaning.
Lexa breaks the kiss, panting, resting her forehead on Clarkes.
“Fuck Clarke.” She breathes.
“I know.” Clarke replies.
“I want you so bad Clarke.” Lexa almost sounds like she’s pleading.
Clarke leans in and licks Lexa’s bottom lips before sucking it into her mouth. She lets it slide out between her teeth, bitting down a little just before the brunette’s lip pops out of her mouth.
“You have me.” Clarke whispers
Lexa grips down on Clarke’s hips and thrust into her with a growl.
“Let’s get out of here.” Lexa husks
Clarke doesn’t say anything, she just takes Lexa’s hand and pulls her away from the dance floor back to the booth.
“Hey guys.” Clarke addresses her friends, choosing to ignore all the smirks her friends are throwing at her. “We’re gonna get out of here… where’s Rae?” She asks once she realizes that her friend isn’t there.
“Um she went to the bathroom.” Octavia replies. “She’s actually been gone a while.” She finishes with a bit of concern coming through in her voice.
‘I’ll go check on her’ Clarke says. Turning to Lexa now. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
Lexa nods and watches the blonde disappear into the crowd.
Clarke enters the bathroom and hears the all too familiar sound of Raven throwing up coming from one of the stalls.
“Rae.” She calls to her friend.
“Hey Clarke.” Raven yells from inside the stall.
“I’ll be out in a minute, just had a few too many”
“Rae, let me in” Clarke says firmly.
There’s silence for a few minutes before the door opens.
Clarke walks in and takes ravens face in her hands.
She looks out of it.
“Did you take your pain meds tonight Rae?” Clarke asks, her voice is stern.
“Just a little.” Raven admits, looking anywhere but at Clarke.
“Fuck Raven!” You know how dangerous that it is! What were you thinking!”
“I was thinking I wanted to have a fun night with my friends without being in total agony! Is that so bad?”
Raven yells back as tears start to trickle down her cheek.
Clarke’s heart breaks for her friend. She pulls her in for a tight hug. Rubbing circles on her back.
“Come on.”
Clarke stands Raven up straight.
“You’re coming home with me.”
“No way Clarke.” Raven argues. “I know you wanna take Lexa home with you, I’m not gonna cock block you like that. Just put me in a cab, I’ll be fine.”
“Not happening.” Is all Clarke says before dragging Raven out of the bathroom.
Lexa spots Clarke coming out of the bathroom, practically holding Raven up and she rushes over to help her.
“Hey, is everything okay.” She asks as she approaches.
“Yeh yeh, Raven’s just not feeling so good, I’m going to take her back to mine.” Clarke says with apologetic eyes.
“Of course,” Lexa says right away.
Clarke smiles at her, glad she’s so understanding.
“Would you just hold her up for a sec? I’m gonna go tell the other we’re leaving.”
Lexa moves in and drapes one of Ravens arms over her shoulders getting a firm hold around her waist to keep her steady.
Clarke comes back shortly after and the two girls walk Raven back to Clarkes apartment.
Lexa helps Clarke get Raven settled on the couch before heading over to the door. Clarke follows her.
“We can’t catch a break hey” She says to the brunette, reaching out and pulling her closer.
Lexa hums as she wraps her arms around Clarke’s waist and leans in placing a soft kiss on Clarke’s lips.
“It’s okay.” Lexa replies. “You just better be worth the wait.” She jokes with a smirk on her face.
Clarke gives her a playful hit on the arm.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”
Clarke smiles leaning in for another kiss, their lips move together, it’s a slow and tender kiss.
Lexa pulls away before it can become heated.
“Go take care of your friend.” she says with a smile
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
At that Lexa turns and walks out of the apartment. Clarke takes a moment to breath and feel the butterflies that Lexa’s created in her stomach before she goes back to tend to her sick friend.
Clarke sits by Raven and brushes the brunette’s hair out of her face.
“She’s a good one Clarke” Raven says without opening her eyes.
“I like her”
‘Me too’ Clarke says softly before leaning down and placing a kiss on her friend’s forehead.
“And she’s hot Clarke. She’s really fucking hot.”
Clarke laughs at her friend.
“Get some rest”.
Raven shuffles around for a minute and pulls the blanket over her head. It’s only a matter of seconds before Clarke hears her snoring and decides to head to bed herself.
Friday tomorrow. Clarke will have Lexa all to herself, no where they need to be, no friends around. Just her and Lexa all night.
It’s all Clarke thinks about until sleep finally takes her.
|
Rick sleeps in the attic. It’s a good place for a batlike being, he thinks, and after the morning...well, he’s not ready to see Judith yet. He knows he’s being silly, that the cut really was just an average injury, that there wasn’t anything particularly special about the incident, but he can’t shake the way it makes him feel deep down in the hollow of his demon bones.
So he stays away. He doesn’t want to sleep in the guestroom with Daryl--he wants to give him his space--and he doesn’t want to worry about bumping into Lori in the living room or the kitchen. So the attic is fine. Even if there is a mouse family making its home in the corner.
Rick settles in and tries to sleep, but the whole night is fitful. Some of it has to do with Judith, but a lot of it has to do with flashes of memory that Rick still tries to convince himself are just exaggerated nightmares, but knows in his heart are true, hard facts. So when the morning light starts slanting through the window, Rick is already mostly up, grumpy, and not in the mood for any shenanigans.
He decides in one swift burst of thought that he’s going to leave. He needs some time off, just a quick afternoon away. And, his treacherous mind tells him, he better do it before Daryl wakes up because one look into those ocean depth eyes will leave Rick frozen in his tracks like a vulture in the middle of winter.
So Rick shimmies out into the living room and flaps toward the front door, but he doesn’t quite make it. “Where are you going?” Daryl asks from behind him.
Rick drops to the ground and looks over. The angel is still an angel in appearance and a sleepy one at that. He’s rubbing at his left eye and he stifles a yawn as he glances in Rick’s direction. Rick flutters his wings uselessly as he stands there. “Out,” he says.
Daryl frowns. “Judith and Lori are going to the museum this morning, if you just need to get out of the house and--”
“No,” Rick says with a shake of his head. “I don’t want to go with them.”
Daryl’s frown deepens and he shuffles his feet. “So where are you--”
“Hell,” Rick snaps, “want to come with?” and then feels instant regret that he’s taking out his bad mood on Daryl.
Daryl blinks and drops his hand from his face. He folds his wings tight across his back and suddenly looks small. “...I was bad,” he says.
It takes Rick a minute to catch on. “...huh?”
“Yesterday,” Daryl says and heaves his chest in a sigh. “Fuck. I knew I would be. I’m not...that’s not...my strong suit. Obviously. I’m sorry.”
Rick stares at him in shock. “You think you’re bad at sex?”
Daryl shrugs and toes the carpet. “Why else are you leaving?”
Rick slumps his shoulders and sighs before walking across the living room to Daryl. He slides up to him easily, running his hands over Daryl’s arms until he gets to his shoulders. “You weren’t bad. You were perfect. I just...I need to go. For me.”
“Are you going to come back?” Daryl asks and Rick wonders if he’s just imagining the underlying hint of sadness in Daryl’s voice.
Rick nods. “Yeah. I’ll be back by dark.”
Daryl bites his lip and then rocks forward on his heels into Rick’s chest, but before he quite makes it, he rocks back. “Okay. I’ll...I’ll wait for you,” Daryl says.
Rick pauses just an extra beat to see if Daryl has anything else to say, but Daryl curves his head to stare at the armrest of the sofa, so Rick just nods a second time and heads for the door.
***
There are plenty of ways to get to Hell, but only a few ways out, which means it’s easy for Rick to dive down through the sewers of the inner city, but he’ll have to leave plenty of time to navigate the Screaming Lava Ruins of Let’s-Get-the-Hell-Out-of-Hell that will be his way back up.
Hell hasn’t changed much since he left, not that he expected it to. Carol is very traditional in what she likes. Does it have blood? Does it have fire? Does it have desperation and destruction? Then why redecorate?
He flies low over the burning ground, brushing the tips of ash trees with his tail and watching them crumble into bits. He folds his wings and speeds up like a bullet toward the center of the whole entire land--Carol’s looming, dark castle with the sharpest spikes in existence.
Inside, Carol is playing her favorite game--Body Parts. She has a man in a cage in front of her and with one quick glance, Rick can tell it’s one of Carol’s favorites, Philip Blake, and that she has his eyeballs in the palm of her hand, rolling them around while he screeches something about his old town of Woodbury.
Rick can’t really feel any sympathies for him. He’s one of the few people that Michonne has shot straight down to the firepit herself after his incident with Andrea. And really, if he didn’t want to be tortured for the rest of eternity, he probably shouldn’t have tried to fuck around with God’s little favorite.
Rick hits the floor in a tumble, cartwheeling up to her and trying to act his damndest so she’ll pay attention to him. “DEVIL WOMAN!” he screeches when he comes to a stop, but Carol barely slides her gaze to him.
“Rick,” she says, her voice dripping with boredom. Rick collapses at her feet. “What are you doing here?”
Rick looks up at her and swishes his tail. “I missed you so, so much,” he tries, but she just smacks him on the head.
“You’re supposed to be watching the prodigy.”
Rick shrugs and stares at the empty eyes of Philip Blake. “Was watching her. Things got messy.”
Carol grins, showing her teeth. “Good messy?”
“Bad messy,” he says, pulling his knees up and letting his arms dangle off of them. “There’s an angel--”
“Well, of course there is.”
“--and he gets in the way sometimes.”
Carol shrugs and starts juggling Philip’s eyes before she decides she needs more. She reaches over and plucks a set from a second man in a cage. “You can handle that.”
“And the girl.”
“What about the girl?”
“She’s bad.”
“Excellent.”
“Mean.”
“Perfect.”
“Has potential.”
“Of course she does.”
“She’s my little monster.”
Carol drops the eyeballs and swings her head to Rick, glaring. “What did you say?”
“Nothing!” Rick is quick to stammer and then jumps in the air, feeling like he should be flying for this.
“Is that emotion I hear in your voice?” Carol asks and then dips her tone down. When she speaks, the ground rumbles and Philip falls over against the bars of his cage. “Love?”
“No,” Rick snaps off quickly.
“Good,” Carol says and points to him, “because if I find out that you love this girl, I will rip your wings off like I do to all the damn house sparrows in my sewers. You got me?”
“Yes, ma’am!” Rick says with a salute.
“You are a demon,” Carol reminds him. “And demons do not love.”
“...right,” Rick says, keeping his voice from cracking and belying how unsure he is.
Carol studies him from head-to-toe and then scoffs. With a wave of her hand, she sends him flying back toward the door in a fit of wind. “Go away,” she says and Rick beats his wings against the oncoming tornado to steady himself before letting it take him out of the castle. So much for that.
When the winds die down and he can finally start flying right, he pauses and scans over the length of Hell. Here on the top, in the first circle, everything is flat except for the spires that arch up. There are no hills and only one lava river to speak of that keeps spiraling from the center to the outside edges. He scans over the land and then starts flying again, to the south. Out on the periphery is a little puddle of lava that he knows well, nestled in between three spires, and the sight of it--the sight of home--will help calm him down, he’s sure. And help beat out whatever he’s feeling beginning to stir deep within his nerve-endings.
Because Carol is right. He is a demon. And demons don’t cuddle babies. They don’t give them endearments. They don’t steal candy for them. They don’t hold them tight while they’re hurt and hope against hope that everything will be okay. Rick folds his wings to his side and drops like a rock. He catches himself right before the ground and spreads them out again to coast while he thinks. What is he doing? Carol sent him to Earth to teach Judith to be evil, not to teach Rick how to love (and lose) again. He needs to distance himself from her. He needs time to center himself, to get back to being black hearted. And he can’t do that up there right now. Not with Judith and not with...Daryl.
Rick doesn’t even want to think about Daryl. And the way that Daryl makes him feel. He sighs to himself and keeps flying to his spot.
He gets halfway there before a force of pure rage slams into his side and sends him spiraling. He tumbles over and catches himself, spins around to see who had hit him and comes face-to-face with Maggie, hovering in the air with her gigantic black wings. She arches an eyebrow and crosses her arms. “Hey, fucker,” she says with a glare.
Rick rolls his eyes and lands on a nearby spire. Maggie keeps glaring, her spine straight and her wings keeping her centered. Her horns curve around the back of her head like sheep horns instead of Rick’s arched ones and she’s blackened from head-to-toe because of course she is. If Merle was Daryl’s first, then she is Rick’s. His own personal regret.
“Hey, Mags,” he says and brushes himself off. “Funny finding you here.”
Maggie scoffs. “Heard you were up on Earth, but I knew you were going to fuck it up.”
Rick glares. “I haven’t fucked it up,” he says and starts brushing ash off himself from where it’s landed all over him. “I am taking a break for a second.”
“Lazy little shit,” she says and does a flip in the air.
“What do you want?” Rick asks, sighing.
“To make your life a living hell,” Maggie answers easily. “So let’s talk about how you’re a screw-up.”
Rick glares. “Not in the mood,” he says and takes a flying leap off his spire, heading back the way he had come. The pool isn’t worth it if Maggie’s going to follow him there. Maggie soars ahead of him, her wings carrying her a greater distance than Rick’s small and agile ones.
“Carol said to watch you,” Maggie tells him with a sidelong glance. “Said you were just at the castle and you were talking about the L word.”
“Fuck you,” Rick says and beats his wings to get ahead of her. “I’m fine.”
“Carol has plans for that little girl.”
“I know.”
“She’s going to be the bringer of the endtimes.”
“I know.”
“She’s not going to be the bringer of love to poor Richard--”
“I know!” Rick growls and turns quickly to slam his body into hers. She goes tumbling for a few feet before she catches herself. “Step off. I’ve got it.”
Maggie glares. “You’ve got an angel up there, too. What are you doing with him?”
“Existing,” Rick says with a hiss and keeps on flying toward the exit.
“Uh huh,” Maggie says and flies to catch up, “how handsome is the little shit? What does this existing consist of?”
“It consists of you minding your own business,” Rick tells her. Maggie tries to slam into him again, but Rick spins lightning quick away from her. “Look,” he says and glares, “stay out of my way or I’m going to turn you into a fresh pile of ash.”
“Try it,” Maggie growls.
Rick faces her slowly and stretches his spine out. They’re not that far from the same size, him and Maggie, but he’s got years on her and more than that, power. “I made you,” he says, letting his voice echo quietly through the fire in the air.
Maggie glares, but in the end, it’s her that looks away. She huffs. “You better watch yourself,” she tells him and Rick doesn’t give her the benefit of saying anything else. She knows. He knows. Maggie looks at him once more and then in a huff, she turns and starts flying away, fast toward the east. Rick watches until he can’t see the black speck on the horizon anymore and then turns, flying slowly upwards, toward Earth.
***
Rick crawls from the gutter and collapses on the sidewalk, slime and ash and brimstone clinging to his skin. Beneath him, Hell growls and he flops over on his back, exhausted from the journey. He blinks and looks around, sees that the streetlights have all popped on and it’s a lot later than he expected to be back. He sighs and lays there for a minute, basking in the cool concrete under his back and the feeling of Earth.
But eventually, even though he’s exhausted, he has to stand. He shakes himself out and then spins himself clean and into his human attire before checking the time--1:24 AM. Carol.--and jogging to the house in the suburbs. He figures he’ll sleep in the attic again tonight and maybe even make that his permanent roost. In the morning, he’ll talk to Daryl, but he should probably keep it curt, try to add some space between them so things aren’t complicated. He knows that if Maggie or any of the other demons try to come and take this job from him, he can kick their asses, but it would be a lot less trouble if he didn’t have to. So he needs to be perfect at this. And perfect, Carol said, does not involve emotion.
But for all of Rick’s well laid plans, there is one thing that he didn’t count on. And that’s Daryl. Sitting on the steps outside the house. Downcast.
Rick stops in his tracks and stares. Daryl’s head is hanging low and he hasn’t seen Rick yet and a part of Rick wants to melt in the shadows and beat it to somewhere safe. But he’s sure that he...yes, Daryl is upset. His shoulders are tucked down and his hands are rubbing at his forehead and even his hair looks sad, hanging loose and limp around his face.
Daryl sighs, a sound that wipes all the air from his lungs in a gust of frustration or worry or Rick’s not really sure what. He throws his hands down to his knees and mumbles to himself. Rick frowns and his body turns sideways, unsure of whether to go forward or back. And then Daryl starts to stand up, moving his legs and arms into position to lift himself. “Stupid,” Rick hears. “You’re so stupid. Of course demons lie.”
Rick blinks. Demons? Lie? Is Daryl talking about...him? Is Daryl thinking about him? Rick swallows hard and then slowly steps forward, clicking his heels loudly against the driveway. He melts from the shadows and Daryl’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with an emotion that Rick can’t define, but that floors him nonetheless.
“Rick?” Daryl asks, his voice both hopeful and desperate as he stands from the steps.
Rick grunts and is suddenly massively uncomfortable with this situation. He doesn’t know what to do with sadness, with hopeful. And why the hell is Daryl upset anyway? “Hey,” Rick says and recognizes that that’s lame.
Daryl lets a breath go and Rick doesn’t know how to interpret it. And then, with one large sudden step, Daryl is...hugging him. Rick freezes, but Daryl just keeps on holding. “You came back,” he whispers into Rick’s hair.
Rick grunts again. “Sure,” he says. “Said I would.”
“You said by dark,” Daryl says and releases him, glaring. “It’s fucking two in the morning.”
Rick blinks at Daryl’s use of language and then just shrugs weakly. “Only one thirty,” he says.
Daryl rolls his eyes and then reaches up to run his hand through his hair. “Fuck. You.”
Rick frowns. “I don’t--”
“Fuck you,” Daryl snarls. “I was worried.”
Rick shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets. “Was just in Hell.”
“In Hell,” Daryl repeats. “You ran away after…” He trails off and shakes his head with a scoff. “You’re a dick.”
Rick frowns, trying to catch up, but feeling hopelessly lost. “Look, I don’t...I don’t get why you’re upset.”
Daryl glares. “We had sex and then you ran off and tried not to tell me about it.”
Rick screws up his forehead and tries to figure out how that’s a bad thing. “But I told you it wasn’t because you were bad?”
“Well,” Daryl says and crosses his arms, “you said it with that tone. Like you were just...trying to make me feel better. ….I thought you were lying to me. I thought you had left and I had failed you ag--whatever.” He shakes his head. “You’re fine? You’re okay?”
Rick shrugs. “Yeah?”
“Good,” Daryl says with a curt nod. “Goodnight.” He turns to walk back inside the house, but Rick just can’t help himself. He reaches out and grabs Daryl’s arm and stops him from walking.
“Wait. You were worried about me?”
Daryl grunts.
Rick furrows his brow. “Why were you worried about me?”
“Because I missed you, you fucking idiot,” Daryl says with a growl and looks up. Their eyes fall together like newly mixed snow and Rick suddenly can’t look away. Daryl’s gaze is stormy and alive, all echoing emotion. There’s nothing hollow about him, nothing insincere, and Rick catches himself falling into a reflection that’s far more important than any mirror in a dead guy’s apartment. In the back of his mind he recognizes that this kind of reciprocation isn’t physical, isn’t looks or lust or any of that. It’s something else, something bubbling and singing. Rick blinks and he’s floored.
Which is probably why he doesn’t stop Daryl when Daryl takes that step forward and cups the back of his neck so adoringly, pulling them together. Rick blinks and his eyes close automatically as Daryl’s lips meet his. No, he thinks to himself, this is going to get you in trouble, but Daryl is right there and warm and safe. Rick gasps unintentionally and Daryl takes advantage of it, diving into Rick’s mouth with purpose and Rick’s mind finally, finally catches up to his body and he realizes that they’re kissing.
Daryl tugs Rick to him and Rick falls against his chest, surrounded in arms that feel like brick walls enclosing him in a secure space. Daryl lips against his are warm and soft, his hands gentle and guiding. He kisses Rick freely and holds nothing back and Rick feels his knees weak and his head fuzzy. “Daryl,” someone says and Rick realizes it’s him, that he whispered Daryl’s name to the night air and Rick can feel Daryl smile as he comes back in for a second kiss. They turn slowly and Daryl pushes Rick up against the wall of the house, plasters his front to Rick’s. Rick falls into his mouth easily again and then his hands get involved, tangling in Daryl’s hair and Daryl’s heat and Daryl’s comfort.
“You fucking idiot,” Daryl whispers, “I missed you so much.” He kisses him again, hard and wanting and Rick slides his hands up Daryl’s back to hold him close.
“I missed you, too,” he says and knows that he means it.
“I thought,” Daryl says and then pauses to kiss again, “that you hated me. That you didn’t like...last night. I was so worried I’d never see you again--”
“I’m right here,” Rick whispers and knows that he wants to be. He opens his eyes and finds Daryl looking at him and they pause, breathing heavily and just staring at one another. Rick swallows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t...whatever. I didn’t mean it.”
Daryl nods. “I know,” he says. “But you’re staying?”
“Yeah,” Rick says and swallows. “Yeah, I’m staying.”
Daryl smiles, slow and brilliant. He runs his fingers into Rick’s hair and bumps them over Rick’s horn buds. “Can I kiss you again?”
Kiss? Kiss? Rick’s mind suddenly explodes back into reality. Demons don’t kiss, he tells himself. Not like this, they don’t. He shakes his head quickly and then breaks away from Daryl, spinning himself away from the wall. “I…” he starts, but what is he going to say? Daryl should know this, dammit. Rick’s a demon, not some damn teenage human. He’s...fuck, it doesn’t matter. Rick’s had a long, long day and he just wants to roost. He shakes his head again. “Goodnight,” he says, quickly. “See you in the morning.” And then he flees.
|
The soldier was cold, the after effects of the cryo chamber still sitting deep in his bones. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened, just that he had been ordered not to move while the technicians look him over. One of the doctors came forward to shine a light in his eyes, looking them over as he held them open with his firm fingers. They kept touching him, looking him over as his body adjusted to life awake after who knew how long in a frozen chamber.
There were guards, several of them just floating around the edge of the room. They were standing at attention, their weapons in hand and prepared in case they needed to put him down. The soldier didn’t move. He didn’t do anything. He just had to wait for orders.
“There’s a woman. She has been causing us quite a bit of trouble for some time.” His handler said. Everything about him was familiar, the way he walked, the tone in his voice, even the strong jawline and sandy hair. So familiar but the sight of him made his stomach curl.
He stood in front of the soldier as he explained the mission, kill the woman, do not raise suspicion, do not draw attention. There was an endless list of things he could and could not do while out on his mission. He recited it all in his head effortlessly, knowledge of those rules as natural to him as breathing. He knew what he was supposed to do.
They were slowly prepping him to kill this woman, the soldier didn’t even pay attention when they mentioned her name. It didn’t matter. The mission was the important thing. His escorts were already prepared, fully armed and watching him carefully as they got him ready. There was a dull ache in the back of his head that wouldn’t go away and a chill still running through his body, but he was deemed healthy enough for the mission by the doctors that had stopped examining him.
It was too quiet. His handlers and his escorts all discussed his mission, but overall there was a sense of silence in the room. They discussed the plan as people started attaching the weapons to his uniform, the buckles were tightened, the ammo stored away in the separate pouches, and he was soon ready for his mission. It was unnecessary, he didn’t need so many weapons to kill a single woman, especially when they wanted him to do a long-distance shot to avoid detection.
“You are to not go to the New Jersey base.” His handler said. He knew his name, the soldier could have sworn all the answers were lurking around in his head but were locked away somewhere and guarded by the throbbing pain in his temples. The soldier did not know why it this information was important, but at least he now knew it. “Usually on missions requiring you to travel we would have you stationed at the nearest base, but the closest one to your target is the New Jersey base. Under no circumstances are you allowed to go there.”
It was not his place to question it. If they had him sleeping in the van while his escorts did recon then that was part of the mission. He didn’t know what was in the New Jersey base, it didn’t matter.
He climbed into the waiting van with his escort team as they headed out. The soldier did not know if the mission was time sensitive or not, he did not know if he was going to be out there for a few days or a few weeks, but he didn’t understand why it was necessary to tell him that he was forbidden to go to the base in New Jersey. Perhaps they were hiding something, or it was just too far out of their way. It wasn’t his place to ask, the soldier just sat down quietly and waited as they drove out of the building and towards the mission.
The ride was smooth. It was late, the only visible light came from the dozens of street lamps they drove past. No one else was around, no traffic and no pedestrians. One of his escorts was sitting across from him, their hands fidgeting over their weapons as they watched the soldier carefully.
The soldier didn’t know if he was permitted to ask questions. There was still a throbbing in his head and the thought of speaking seemed to make it ache worse. The whole world still felt fuzzy, he knew what his mission was and how to complete it, he knew who his handlers were and whose orders to listen to, but it all felt faded and distant. He shook his head, the man in front of him tightening his hold on his weapon, and tried to forget about everything going through his head. There was nothing there, he was empty, a weapon.
There was something wrong. He was certain of that.
“What’s her name?” The soldier asked. “My mission.”
He didn’t know what her name was. He could have sworn that his handler had told him, but he didn’t know the name. He didn’t know any name. Suddenly it became the most important thing in the world, he had to know his mission’s name. Why did this woman deserve death?
Something was missing. Someone wasn’t there that should be. It was hard to understand because as far as the soldier knew, this was it. This was his life and he didn’t know what was so wrong with it now. There was just something.
“Director Carter.” The one driving said.
The soldier frowned. He did not know if he knew a ‘Director Carter’.
“No, there’s someone else.” He said slowly.
All of the guards in the van with him shared a look, the driver glancing in the rearview mirror. They were nervous, fidgety. The soldier’s body tensed, his own hand itching for a knife as the man across from him opened one of the supply boxes. There was someone else, he remembered there was someone, but he couldn’t quite figure out who. They were important, they were a mission, but it wasn’t Director Carter.
“I have to kill them.” The soldier said. That was what he did, he killed people. That was all he was supposed to do, but someone was alive who shouldn’t be.
“I’m gonna cuff him.” The man across from him said. He pulled out a large, thick pair of cuffs from the supply box and looked over to the soldier. “You read the report, he’s unstable. At least until we’re in position I want him cuffed.”
The man in the passenger seat turned, weapon ready and in hand as the cuffs came closer. The soldier waited, not moving a muscle. He tried to remember, he had to complete his mission. He didn’t notice the metal wrapping around his wrists securely, or the man returning to his seat across from him, or how his bound hands shifted slightly towards a weapon. He had to get away, he had to find his mission. They were there, thinly veiled inside his head but he couldn’t find them.
His whole body hurt, the seam of his shoulder where metal met skin felt like it was burning. It wasn’t supposed to be there. It wasn’t supposed to dig into his body and feel like fire against his flesh. The arm burned while the rest of his body felt ice cold, frozen wall wrapping around him and locking him away. Too many feelings were taking over now, the soldier couldn’t fight them off. There was an incomplete mission. Someone he should have killed.
Zola, they were with Zola. He remembered that because the last time he tried to get to them they had invaded his mind, a single word breaking into him and shutting him down. He couldn’t let that happen again, he couldn’t let them stop him from getting to the mission. Little things were slipping through, just enough information to know what he had to do. More would be revealed if he could just get away, but right now this little thing would be enough.
He can’t recall a time he ever tried to kill his escorts. There had to be some, but none came to mind, his memories not reaching back far enough to know for certain if the people sent to watch over him had ever died by his hand. The soldier was good at killing people. He wouldn’t be surprised if he killed his escort team. He wanted to kill these ones now.
He had to think. These men were obstacles, stopping him from completing a mission. He could kill them easily. He had to figure out why this mission was left incomplete, why he knew they were there without actually remembering them. He would figure out why his body felt wrong, why his mind felt foggy, and why he had to kill his escorts. There were too many questions in his head and not enough answers, but he had to get away.
“He’s mine.” The soldier said softly. He didn’t know why he said it. His mind and body were working on separate frequencies and too few bits of information passed through the barriers of his memory, but as long as he found who he was looking for it would be alright. Nothing else mattered.
|
Saturday, 19 June 2004
The next day is spent in an odd alternating pattern of moping and frantic closet re-organization in an attempt to stave off the moping.
Hermione has yet to give her official notice, and she has yet to receive any new assignments. It turns out that Roberts has been out on some sort of official Ministry-related business, waving off any further discussion until after the weekend. Figures.
She wonders who — if anyone — has discovered her timelessness in the Pensieve has now come to an end. She’s been steadfast and silent on the matter and knows Severus has been the same, given the lack of Ministry officials knocking down her door.
In fact, he’s been so silent that he hasn’t owled her at all. She supposes he’s been busy finding a place to live, starting work in the DOM, or any number of normal activities for a man finally freed from obligation. And gods, it’s only been a day. She needs to get a grip on reality now that she’s moving through time at a normal pace for once.
Percy hasn’t done anything other than thank her for her assistance and busy himself with more file reallocations.
Hannah has been making even more trips back and forth to Manchester, and now Hermione’s not sure they have anything to do with memory acquisition.
Blaise has been… strategically absent since yesterday, come to think of it.
And Hermione has been sitting on her couch at her flat, stewing and wondering what in Circe’s name she is going to do next.
It’s during one of these on-the-couch introspection sessions that a silver stag bursts through the window.
“Hermione! You have to meet us for drinks ASAP! You’ll never guess who’s here!”
She blinks as the Patronus fades. Drinks? Where? Trust Harry to forget the actual details on the first go, especially if he’s already a few deep. She drags herself up off of the couch, dislodging Crookshanks, who promptly curls up in the spot where she was just seated.
A second Patronus. “We’re at the Leaky!”
Great. The busy part of Diagon Alley. She’ll have to change into something that isn’t her faded Oxford t-shirt and plaid pajama shorts. She pads down the hall to her room and surveys her newly organized wardrobe. The fitted charcoal robes will have to suffice.
A third Patronus bounds in just as she’s pulling them around her shoulders.
“I said you’ll never guess, but I’ll tell you anyway. It’s Snape!”
Her heart thuds in her ears.
Fuck, these robes are scratchy and unflattering. She tugs them off impatiently and shoves the hangers to the side to flick through them. The red ones are too slutty, the green too obvious, the black too desperate. Why does she have nothing to wear?
A silver hare springs from her windowsill onto her bed.
“Hermione! Put on that muggle sundress so we match and save me from being the only sober one here for at least a few minutes.”
That it’s Luna Lovegood who appears to be the voice of reason in this instance is a strange sort of irony that makes Hermione simultaneously dread and look forward to the rest of the evening.
Sundress smoothed down, hair pinned away from her face in a mess of frizz, and satchel slung over her shoulder, Hermione leaves her flat to find a safe place to Apparate.
-
When she arrives, she is pulled into a large, inebriated crowd and passed an overflowing, sticky pint of butterbeer.
“— into him in the East Wing corridor, just walking with purpose as though he’s been there all along, and he just nodded at me and said, ‘Potter,’ and I froze for a solid thirty seconds probably, it’s a miracle I didn’t drool on myself —”
“— and then he hugged him for Merlin’s sake, right there in the corridor, and that’s when he froze —”
“— Gods, you hugged Snape? And he didn’t hex you on the spot? Are you sure you still have all your bits —”
“That subject does not concern me.” Severus’s familiar deep voice cuts in and is swallowed by a wave of laughter that seems to physically move through the crowd.
“And Hermione knew the whole time and couldn’t tell anyone — look! Hermione’s here!”
Wonderful.
Sweaty, sticky bodies move aside until she’s further in the crowd and handed a gillywater cocktail, forcing her to awkwardly clutch her pint against herself with the other hand. The butterbeer smears on the front of her dress and spills over a bit more as someone jostles her. After trying and failing to charm her dress clean with no free hand, she finally looks up.
Severus looks briefly shocked to see her, but he’s pulled away to talk with some former Hufflepuff several years ahead of her who stands a bit too close and smiles a bit too broadly at him.
A shattering sound of someone dropping their drink on the ground distracts her from awkwardly studying them.
“Shite! Sorry —” Callum Birchbauer says as he vanishes the glass. What on earth is he doing here —
“It’s alright, I’ll buy you another.”
“Blaise?” Hermione says, praying he hasn’t noticed anything amiss at his office.
“Not you too, Hermione! Salazaar, Potter must have voluntold the entire Ministry to be here.”
“Not the entire Ministry! Percy’s at the Burrow trying to convince Molly not to give us six trunks’ worth of matching baby jumpers.”
“Luna, thank goodness!”
“Hermione, I’m so glad you came! I was worried I’d have to Apparate everyone home myself —”
“Are you even able to Apparate in your current — condition?”
“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to worry. Although on second thought, I may use it as an excuse to duck out early —”
“Who’s leaving early? We still need to round up the lot of us for a photo with Snape —”
“It’s Professor Snape, Harry don’t forget —”
“Oh sod off, Ron!”
“I bet you call him Severus now —”
“Harry!”
“On that note, Dumbledore wants me to call him ‘Albus’ now!”
Suddenly losing interest in the subject, Hermione turns back to glance at Severus, who is smiling politely and pocketing a slip of parchment as another group of Hogwarts alums approach him. She starts to make her way over only to get edged along to the side of the bar as more people surround him.
She sets her two drinks down on the bar, finally, and charms the spills off of herself.
“I am much too old for this shite,” Haile says, hopping up on the barstool next to Hermione.
“Et tu, Haile?”
“Birchbauer told me he needed a wingwoman. ‘It will be fun,’ he said. ‘You’ll get to relive your glory days.’ Nevermind that I’m perfectly happy with a glass of wine and a night in with my wife.”
Hermione winces in sympathy. “At least he seems to have no further need of your services,” she says, nodding over to where he and Blaise are posting up at a small corner table.
“And neither will you and Severus now,” Haile replies, and Hermione trips as she clambers onto her stool. “Gods, I hope he doesn’t thin his blood with all that alcohol and undo all my hard work,” she grumbles.
Hermione wonders just how tipsy Severus intends to get this evening and just how low his tolerance must be after spending six years in St. Mungo’s. A little bit of something like dread creeps up her spine when she wonders what his judgment will be like after all the firewhiskies that somehow make their way into his graceful fingers.
She takes a generous swig of her cocktail and turns to find Haile studying her.
“You know, it would be nice to continue working with you. Your skillset really bridges the gap between in vitro experimentation and what we can accomplish with mind healing.”
Hermione blinks. “Yes, that would be nice. I’ve enjoyed our time together so far.”
“How would you like to consider a new role at St. Mungo’s?”
“I’d consider it done. Yes. Absolutely. Wait — oh my God, are you offering me a job?” She bursts into laughter along with Haile and feels herself being wrapped up in a warm hug.
“Owl me when you’re sober, and take some time to think it over,” Haile says and bids her goodbye, and Hermione is left with a bubbly feeling inside her chest that has nothing to do with her half-consumed pair of drinks. She turns back toward the crowded room, still smiling, and sees — another woman slipping Severus a scrap of parchment and kissing him on the cheek.
Right. Perhaps that bubbly feeling is just the start of acid reflux as she nears 30. And perhaps it’s time for her to head home to her cat and her graveyard of a flower box and her empty bed.
“Well, enjoy the rest of your evening!” she calls out to no one in particular.
She gets a couple of absent-minded toasts and a wave from Luna across the room. Good enough. She wraps her arms around herself and weaves her way through the crowd towards the door.
It’s ridiculous, feeling this odd, hollow jealousy when she has nothing to be jealous of.
Someone elbows her in the shoulder, and she trips, awkwardly gripping a chair back to right herself.
Or maybe it’s homesickness — it’s that same sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. But homesick for where?
The gusts of air from the door feel almost refreshing as the heat of bodies dissipates.
And why does she care if Severus is finally mentally whole again and wants to spend his newfound well-adjustedness acting like a normal man and maybe actually enjoying himself for once in his life?
She takes a few deep breaths of air as she steps outside. The street is oddly quiet, and there is a dull ringing in her ears as the bar noises dissipate.
She stares up at the clear night sky and the faint stars freckled across it. She’s lucky there isn’t so much light pollution tonight. Maybe she can climb up on the roof of her flat and break out her telescope later and let Crookshanks watch the owls flying. She turns toward the Apparition point.
She vaguely registers the door opening behind her as she rounds the corner into the darkened alley at the side of the building. The sound echoes against the brick walls.
There are footsteps quickening behind her. If it’s someone trying to pull something, they picked the wrong night, she thinks and slides her wand out before backing against the wall to wait.
The footsteps halt. There is an almost hesitant tone to Severus’s familiar voice as he calls out, “Granger?”
Hermione steps around the corner, wand still out, eyeing him warily. He’s backlit by the flickering street lamp, the silhouette of his hair impossibly dark.
“I didn’t think you’d be leaving this early,” she offers. It sounds like a flimsy excuse.
“Then you must not have spent days inside my memories.” He runs a hand over his face. “I hate that sort of thing.”
“You didn’t seem to hate it so much in there.” Her voice sounds oddly petulant to her ears.
“Neither did you,” he counters. “The only time you’re not surrounded by people, you’re halfway out the door.”
Only because he was surrounded by people. She thought that’s what he wanted. So why could he possibly have followed her out here unless —
“Did — did you want to talk to me about something?”
He pauses just a beat too long before responding. “No… No, I just followed you out here to this alleyway full of trash skips so that we could continue to ignore each other.”
“I suppose that would be a favorable alternative to going back inside,” she admits and finally stashes her wand.
Severus paces back and forth a couple times before stepping toward her.
“Just so you know, the DOM isn’t — I don’t think they’re as — corrupt. I would never have temporarily signed on if it weren’t to help figure things out.”
Why is he trying to justify himself to her? What else does he know? He looks on the verge of saying something else when he seems to think better of it and stands resolutely silent once more. The quiet descends around them.
“Haile offered me a job at St. Mungo’s,” Hermione blurts out in a desperate bid to revive the conversation.
“Congratulations,” he says, and he sounds relieved for the subject change.
“Thank you. If it weren’t for working on your memories, I might have been stuck at the Ministry forever. You’re really quite a catch.” She immediately feels the heat rise to her cheeks.
“Is that so? I would think you’d be the catch in this instance.”
“You would?” Her voice trembles, and she feels her heart pick up speed.
He pauses in front of her, the lamp casting soft beams of light across the side of his face. “Yes, seeing as you’re the one with the new job offer.”
Oh. And what a great show of logic and professionalism she must be displaying now. It certainly inspires a lot of hope for the future of mind healing.
“I should probably —” he begins, and then breaks off when he meets her eye.
“Probably get back inside?” Hermione finishes for him. “I’m sure you’re going to be quite… busy this evening.” She doesn’t mean to sound so snappish.
Severus’s mouth falls open at this statement. Is he amused or irritated? She can’t tell. Her anxiety whirls around her, and she suddenly feels very foolish.
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I shouldn’t have made the assumption that —”
“— that you know me? But you should. Because you do.”
He stands before her now, and her eyes adjust to the planes of his face in darkness. He’s close, his breath steady, measured. Everything so carefully calculated.
“Hermione,” — her breath hitches at the sound of him saying her name — “you’ve seen what I looked like as a dunderhead teenager trying not to choke on Lucius Malfoy’s ridiculous cigars — fuck, you’ve seen me on both ends of an anonymous Knockturn Alley blow job. There’s — there’s no one else.”
There aren’t flowers or descriptions of her beauty or declarations of love, but, as he speaks these words, there is something in the raw, imploring fire in his eyes and in the shy smile in the corner of his mouth that makes Hermione want to bottle this moment up and watch it again and again.
His gaze dips down to her lips just for the briefest of moments, and Hermione feels them lift into a smile. She reaches up to brush his hair — his perfect, silky hair — out of his face and kisses him.
He tastes like whiskey and a dash of nerves, but maybe those nerves are her own. She feels her pulse in her fingertips as they card through his hair, and he sighs against her mouth. His hands are gentle against her, one resting lightly on her waist, the other sliding along her shoulder blades in a way that makes her shiver. He runs his tongue along her lower lip, and she gasps, her heart thundering in her temples as she shifts herself closer into the lean plane of his chest and presses her own tongue forward to meet his.
The door to the bar bursts open, and the sound of their quick gasps is covered by raucous laughter. Severus springs backward and wraps his arms around himself, the only hint of what has just transpired there in the tiny flaring of his nostrils as he catches his breath.
The crowd that passes is luckily one that doesn’t seem to recognize either of them. They shoot a few poorly aimed spells at the nearby street lantern and then cheer when it goes out. Hermione lets out a breath and gives Severus a tentative grin.
If it weren’t so dark now, she thinks she would be able to see him blushing in response, even though his face still looks impassive.
If it weren’t so dark, she’d have some clue as to what to do next.
Just as her grin starts to falter, he asks, “Would you be free tomorrow evening? To — talk.”
“Alright,” she says, a bit perplexed.
“And to have dinner?”
She laughs in relief. “Yes.”
|
Chapter 6: Bad Memories
Sirius was hunched on the floor, his hands held up to shield himself from another blow. He scrunched down as small as he could make himself, but it didn't help.
“You are a disgrace to the House of Black!” His mother screeched, her hand rearing back to hit him again. “I am ashamed to call you my son!”
Tears burned in his eyes and Sirius blinked rapidly, forcing them back. He didn’t need to give her more ammunition against him.
No , he thought, and pushed against the memory.
He was older now, maybe fifteen, and standing toe to toe with his mother. He was so close to her that he could feel the heat from her breath and flecks of spittle hitting his face. He wouldn’t back down though. He refused to give her the satisfaction of cowing him.
“Where did I go wrong, getting a blood traitor like you for a son?!” His mother roared, insanity gleaming in her grey eyes as she slapped him hard across the face.
His head whipped to the side from the force of the blow and he felt blood pearl at the corner of his mouth. He turned his head back toward her, defiance etched across his face , and he spat the blood at her feet.
Stop it! he pleaded and shoved harder.
“How could you do this to me?” Remus shouted at him, his face red with anger.
Sirius reached a hand out toward his friend. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. He was just being so awful and I wanted to teach him a lesson…”
Remus knocked his hand away with such force that Sirius felt it vibrate through his bones. “You betrayed me! I could have killed him!” He turned his back on Sirius and made his way to the dormitory door.
“Remus, wait! I’m sorry!”
Remus did not look back nor did he hesitate to slam the door behind him on his way out. Sirius sank down onto his bed, tears welling in his eyes.
NO! Sirius’ mind screamed in protest at the intrusion. Get out of my head!
Sirius stumbled where he stood, and leaned forward to put his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. Regulus stared up at him from his position sprawled on the floor, also panting heavily.
“That was pretty impressive for your first try,” Reg gasped as he got to his feet. He moved toward Sirius, intending to clap him on the back, but Sirius jerked away from him.
“Don’t touch me! Just- just leave me alone.” Sirius grabbed his jacket and flung himself out of the door to his flat before Reg could even utter a response.
The main door to the apartment building banged shut behind him as Sirius sat down on the front steps. He shook a cigarette out of the slightly squashed pack and lit it with a quick flick of his wrist. He inhaled deeply as he tried to will away the sting of tears that still clung to his eyes. He was mortified at how close he was to crying. He hadn’t cried since he was a boy, since he had refused to give his parents the satisfaction of breaking him. Now though, with every painful memory dug up and swimming around in his head, it was a close thing. Sirius pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and took a shuddering breath in. He was stronger than this.
The door opened and closed behind him again. Sirius stiffened as he felt Regulus sit down beside him. More than anything he was embarrassed that his brother was seeing him so weak. Regulus didn’t say anything at first, he just sat next to his brother, shoulders nearly touching but not quite. Sirius took another drag off of his cigarette and blew the smoke up into the cold January sky. They stayed that way for several minutes before Regulus finally broke the silence.
“I’m sorry that there isn’t an easier way to teach you,” he said with a sigh, not looking away from the snowflakes that were swirling around them.
Sirius nodded with an abrupt jerk of his head, but said nothing in return. Instead, he inhaled on his cigarette before blowing twin streams of smoke from his nose like an angry dragon.
“It’s just,” Regulus tried again, searching for the right words. “You need to be able to block people from your mind completely, or show them only what you want them to see. If you could do both, and pick the right technique for the circumstance, that would be ideal.” He leaned back and propped his elbows on the step behind him. “Take me, for example. I would never have survived as a Death Eater if The Dark Lord had any idea how I regretted my choice to join his ranks. I was able to pick and choose what I showed him and he never suspected that I was using Occlumency against him. The Dark Lord is a skilled Legilimens, as is Dumbledore, but neither of them would be able to detect that they were only being fed handpicked memories.”
Sirius sucked in a breath at Dumbledore’s name. “Of course Dumbledore is a Legilimens,” he scoffed. “Why didn’t he offer to teach me himself since he thinks it’s so important for me to master Occlumency?”
“My guess? He doesn’t want to risk you getting too good and seeing something in his mind that he doesn’t want you to see.” Regulus shrugged. “Or, he doesn’t want The Dark Lord to have access to his mind, and he worries that he might, through you.”
Sirius looked at him sharply. “Doesn’t that worry you as well? You did fake your death to get away from him after all.”
Reg lifted a shoulder and tipped his head back to look up at the night sky. “It’s too late for that, seeing as I’ve committed myself to going on a Horcrux hunt with you and your barmy friends.”
Sirius snorted. “It’s only thanks to you that we even know about the Horcruxes in the first place. Don’t act like we dragged you into this— you did that to yourself.”
“True, but I have come to learn that there are some things I’m willing to risk my life for.”
“Then we have that in common, little brother.” Sirius agreed. He vanished his cigarette butt and stood up, turning to extend a hand to Reg. “Come on, it’s cold enough to freeze our balls off out here.”
~*~*~*~
He was moving through the forest again, his tongue flicking out to taste the air. There was something familiar in the woods tonight. Something he hadn’t sensed in months, not since everything went wrong. Nothing had gone to plan and he was so very angry that he had been bested by a blood traitor and a coward. Now he was reduced to this shadow of his former self, though not for long if he could help it.
He paused, trying to determine which direction the familiar scent was coming from. He turned to the left, picking up speed as the sensation got stronger. A booted foot came down hard on the ground in front of him and a hand grabbed a hold of him. He was lifted into the air and he thrashed in protest, only to still when he saw the face of the woman holding him. Her wild black hair was spiraling out from her face, framing grey eyes that held a spark of insanity. Her lips curled up into a wicked smile, exposing white teeth that almost looked sharp in the moonlight.
“I found you!” the woman exclaimed with a delighted cackle. “I knew I would! I told them all that you would return. Now we will show those traitors no mercy!”
Sirius shot up in his bed. The blankets were tangled around his legs and he kicked them away, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sides of the mattress so hard his knuckles whitened. He hissed in pain and pressed a hand to his forehead, rubbing at the scar that marred his skin. Sirius felt Remus stir behind him and then a cool hand was laid on his back, moving in comforting circles across his sweat slicked skin.
“What happened?” Remus murmured from behind him, and Sirius felt him scoot closer to his perch.
Sirius took in a shuddering breath and expelled it shakily before answering. “I had a nightmare. One of the strange ones, I mean.” He let his head fall back against Remus’ chest, listening to the beating of his heart before continuing. “I think Bellatrix found Voldemort.”
Remus inhaled sharply, and Sirius could tell that he was choosing his words carefully before speaking. Remus usually thought about things before he did them, unlike James and himself. Sometimes, Sirius hated that controlled behavior that Remus hid behind, but tonight he was glad for it.
“We are making progress, Sirius. We might want to move a bit faster now, but Voldemort still has no body. Even with Bellatrix at his side, how much can he hope to accomplish without it?” Remus reasoned.
“If there are spells that can split a soul and hide the pieces in an object, then there are probably spells that can create a body for an evil git,” Sirius pointed out.
~*~*~*~
“There are most definitely spells that can create a body for The Dark Lord.” Regulus said bluntly.
It was five in the morning and Sirius, Remus, and Regulus were sitting around the kitchen table. They were drinking whiskey laced tea— even Remus, which showed the seriousness of the situation better than anything else Sirius could think of— and discussing the potential repercussions of Bellatrix having returned to her master’s side.
Sirius found himself feeling comforted by his brother’s close proximity, even if he rarely had any good news to tell them. Once Regulus had offered to teach Sirius Occlumency, Sirius had invited him to move into the flat with himself and Remus. They had an extra room now that he and Remus were sharing a bed anyway. It had come in handy to have Regulus nearby, not needing to rely on owls or wait for replies to his letters. Now though, with this latest development, Sirius was grateful for his brother’s presence even if what he was saying was less than pleasant.
“There are some very foul, disgusting, dark magic rituals that could be used, though I believe The Dark Lord would still be quite weak and helpless for some time,” Regulus was saying. “We will need to move quickly to find whatever Horcruxes remain and destroy the lot. I can guarantee that he will be determined to get his revenge on you, Sirius. That will probably be his first priority, in fact.”
Sirius dropped his head into his palms. “That’s fucking great. I’ve been feeling like the one thing I was missing was a madman after my head as well as inside it.”
~*~*~*~
Sirius trudged through the door to their flat feeling numb and exhausted. It had been another long day in the file room at the DMLE and he hadn’t exactly had a restful night’s sleep. He threw his coat over the rack by the door and kicked his boots off, but stopped short when he entered the sitting room.
Remus was lounging in front of the lit fireplace wearing Sirius’ leather jacket. Wearing only his leather jacket. Sirius’ eyes widened as they trailed down his boyfriend’s naked body stretched out on the rug.
“Fuck” Sirius breathed.
Remus’ lip curled up into a wicked smile. “That is what I was hoping for.”
Sirius wasted no time in stripping off his shirt and pants as he walked toward Remus, then he was on his knees in front of him, and Remus sat up to meet him. Sirius grabbed the lapels of the coat and yanked Remus toward him, kissing him hard. Remus moaned against his mouth and sucked on his lower lip while his hands slid down to grab Sirius’ ass. He ground his bare cock against Sirius’ clothed groin and hissed in pleasure.
Sirius pulled back slightly, panting through swollen lips. “Where’s Reg?”
“He went out for the night,” Remus murmured, kissing and licking his way down Sirius’ neck. He stopped to suck at his collar bone and pushed his hips into Sirius’ again.
“This is the best idea you’ve ever had,” Sirius gasped, letting Remus push him down onto the carpet.
Remus made a sound of agreement and continued peppering kisses and nips down Sirius’ torso. Sirius threaded his fingers through Remus’ curls and his hips jerked up when Remus bit down on his hip bone. He felt cool air on his cock as Remus yanked down his boxers before it was quickly replaced by hot breath as Remus hovered over him.
“Nnnngh, yes, I love the way you suck me,” Sirius hissed, trying to push Remus closer to his cock.
Remus laughed breathily and let his lips graze lightly over Sirius’ length. “Do you now?”
“Tease,” Sirius gasped.
Remus licked a path up his erection before swallowing him whole. Sirius felt his tongue pressing into his cock and tracing patterns on it as he moved his mouth up and down over him.
“Fuck,” Sirius moaned.
Remus released him abruptly and Sirius made a noise of protest as the cool air hit his skin again. “I could, if you wanted. Fuck you, I mean.”
Sirius gaped at him. “Uh… I mean, maybe?”
Remus laughed. “Relax, Sirius, Maybe we will try that another time. Tonight, I want to ride you.”
Remus moved up Sirius’ body to straddle his hips and tilted his own down so that their cocks rubbed together. Sirius growled and grabbed two fistfuls of leather, pulling Remus down to kiss him. Their noses bumped together with the force of it, but Sirius didn’t even pause before pulling Remus’ bottom lip between his teeth, nipping at it before soothing it with his tongue.
Remus pulled back to murmur a spell and Sirius could feel the movement of his hand as he readied himself. Sirius licked the shell of his ear and then bit down on the side of his neck when he felt Remus’ slick hand stroke his cock as he positioned himself over it. Inch by inch, Remus lowered himself down onto Sirius’ length until he was flush against him.
Sirius thrust up into him as Remus started to lift himself up and then push down again, stroking Sirius’ cock with his wet heat. Sirius fisted his hands into the rather crumpled looking jacket that Remus was still wearing and used it to help guide him along his length. Sweat dripped from Remus’ hairline and trickled down his neck prompting Sirius to sit up so he could lick the salt off his skin.
Their pace was speeding up now, Sirius thrusting up as hard as he could while Remus bounced on top of him.
“Fuck, you feel so good. So tight,” Sirius moaned, biting at Remus’ neck.
Remus threw his head back, exposing more of his throat to Sirius’ teeth, his cock trapped between their bodies as they pressed even closer together. “Oh, shit,” he gasped. “I’m so close, Sirius.”
“Fuck yes, fucking ride me harder.” Sirius worked his hand between their stomachs and grasped Remus’ cock tightly in his hand. He stroked it hard and fast, matching the punishing rhythm that Remus was keeping on top of him. “Come for me, love.”
Remus cried out, alternately pushing himself down on Sirius’ cock and thrusting up into his hand. He came with a shudder, translucent white strands spilling out between them. Sirius followed immediately, feeling the muscles contracting around him as he pushed his throbbing cock as deep into Remus as he could.
They kissed desperately, sweat soaked bodies sliding together and leather rustling around them. When they broke apart gasping for air, Sirius found himself gazing at Remus, his heart close to bursting from his chest. Suddenly, though he had kept this secret for years, he found that he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“I love you,” Sirius whispered as Remus’ eyes widened in surprise.
|
6 June 1887, New Orleans
Rebekah POV:
Fifty-two years. That is how long Klaus had left her daggered and all for her love for Marcel.
Former love. Rebekah thought. He had betrayed her.
Klaus wouldn't have hurt him, she knew. He was testing his feelings for her and at the slightest crack, they shattered like glass.
She walked about the manor they lived in like a ghost. Too angry with all of her siblings for leaving her daggered for so long. And it wasn't even the first time.
Even if it was hypocritical of her to do so, considering Cyrus, who had been right all those years ago.
Her older brother had been suffering the dagger for far longer than Rebekah had. Almost four hundred years now. Klaus had kept him daggered ever since Cyrus had helped that little trollop he had fallen for escape. She hated the girl for making her brother betray the Klaus back then.
Jealousy and spite - those were the driving emotions of the Mikaelsons.
Rebekah entered the room, she knew Klaus kept their brother in. Unlike Kol and Finn, Cyrus' coffin and belongings had morbidly taken their own room since they arrived in New Orleans. The box was laid on a massive table that stood next to the bed. She opened the lid and saw Cyrus there, all grey and withered like a corpse, the dagger in his chest the only thing that kept him there.
Her fingers caressed the dagger, wondering whether or not to let Cyrus fulfill his promise of retribution. Klaus certainly was still trying to keep his, his agents looking for the Petrova doppelganger and yet not finding her. She had to hand it to her - Katerina, no, Katherine Pierce knew how to survive. She had always been one step ahead of her brother and his lackeys were unable to return with news of her capture. Sometimes they did not return at all. Her brother's Strix still lurked in the shadows, no doubt working to undermine Klaus in his quest, loyal to their master even after so many years.
She knew Klaus was envious of that as well. The loyalty their brother inspired. And she knew that the only reason that they had not been assaulted by them was because Cyrus had instructed them to not endanger their lives. To continue their mission.
It was not for a lack of trying on their part though. Her brother's loyalists had attempted to liberate him four separate times but Klaus always managed to stop them.
It had been quiet now for over a century. As far as she knew anyways.
"Rebekah."
She turned around and bile returned to the tip of her tongue.
"Marcellus." She returned coldly.
"I..." he sounded mournful, not that she cared. "I never meant to hurt you like this. He said..."
"I do not care for your excuses, Marcel. You betrayed me to become a vampire."
"I wanted him to make me a vampire like him." He confessed. "We could still be together. I hope in time you will forgive me."
"Do not come to me with this nonsense." She raged. 'You never loved me. You betrayed me and for what? To be like Klaus."
And in her fury, Rebekah chose to lash out the best way she could. She grabbed the dagger from Cyrus' chest and removed the bloody thing, tossing it aside. Marcel panicked and rushed to get it.
"What are you doing Rebekah? You know your brother could dagger you again for this."
"You and him can both go shove it."
Marcel POV:
Damnit, Rebekah, can't you see I am doing this for your own good?
It is what he thought, not that he would ever said it. He wanted a relationship with Rebekah but did not want to disappoint Klaus either.
First though he had to correct this before Klaus found out.
Marcel picked the dagger up, but before he could react....
"Excellently put, sister of mine." A hoarse voice whispered. "Perhaps, I could help you all shove it."
"Rebekah! Look out!" Marcel shouted in warning and managed to get Rebekah behind himself before the Original Vampire, who was meant to still be desiccated, lunged at her and instead grabbed Marcel by the collar.
His skin was ashen grey, his eyes were pale yet focused, his clothes almost rags from the passage of time. There was no doubt though.
They had made a terrible mistake.
"Hello, Marcellus." Cyrus greeted with a husky voice. "I am your uncle, Cyrus. How good it is to meet you. And beside my sister no less. I must admit, this is funny."
As Cyrus cackled, Rebekah stood there in shock, as if she wasn't the one responsible for this.
"How is this possible?" She questioned at last. "How..."
"Oh, come come now, sweet sister. Is this any way to treat your brother?" Cyrus took a brief glance around him. "How long has he kept me daggered, hum?" He asked. "HOW LONG, REBEKAH?"
"You have been daggered for almost four hundred years. It is 1887." Marcel answered instead. This did little to cease the Old One's rage.
The old vampire jumped above him with an agility that a vampire, who hasn't had a lick of blood for centuries, should not possess. Cyrus grabbed Rebekah by the throat and lifted her up.
"You lot have left me to rot for four hundred years?!" He roared and before Marcel could move, Cyrus shoved Rebekah into him with such a force that it sent them both to the ground. "So much lost time. Time I could have spent with my Katerina. And all....because....of HIM!"
Cyrus lifted Rebekah back to her feet and stared into her eyes. "When you wake up, tell our brother that I shall wait for him in his precious city. Tell him not to tarry though. For I have his son."
Before Marcel could react, Rebekah's neck had been snapped and the angry Original was staring into his own eyes.
"You will obey me, Marcel, and do nothing that could anger me. And you will follow me."
Marcel lost control of his actions and followed Cyrus Mikaelson as the Original scavenged through his belongings and left the Mikaelson Mansion soon after.
Elijah POV:
"How the hell is this possible?" Niklaus roared. "How could you undagger him, sister?"
"Fuck you, Nik. You ruined everything for me again. Why should I care that you or Marcel will suffer as well?" Rebekah snapped at him. "I hope he puts his head on a spike."
"Rebekah, you do not understand." Elijah decided to intervene before his brother and sister started fighting each other again. This was the worst possible time. "Cyrus has promised retribution for what our brother did and he is more than likely to enact it here."
"I was justified, Elijah. He ruined the ritual."
"Be that as it may, he may well try to summon father here and have him destroy everything we have built in this city. And that is if he does not take to the task himself. We still have enemies here, who would gladly use the chance to fight against us."
"Just find him, witch." Niklaus addressed the witch Celestine. She had been working with them for years and was trustworthy. "It is what I am paying you for."
"I should charge extra for all the shouting." She muttered under her nose. "There." She pointed to the map, she had been using for her locator spell. "This is where he is and so is the other vampire."
"St. Louis' Cathedral?" Rebekah questioned. "What would he want to do there?"
"It would probably be packed with people." Elijah answered, having come to a grim realization. "Today is the wedding of the governor's daughter. She is supposed to marry there. And with so many guests attending, I fear our brother is planning a massacre."
They arrived in the cathedral just in time to see said massacre that had unfolded mere moments ago conclude in its bloody entirety. Marcel was holding the unlucky bride by the neck and was about to drive his fangs into her.
"Stop this, Marcel!" Klaus shouted.
"I....can't." Marcel uttered.
"He can't really do anything unless I allow him to."
They looked straight ahead and saw their brother, lounging on the altar. The blood on his clothes, which he had obviously taken from somewhere as they were not the old rags he had been in for centuries, suggested that he had partaken in this slaughter.
"Hello, oh massive disappointments of mine." Cyrus got to his feet. "Welcome to my reckoning. Isn't just so...fitting?" Klaus prepared to lunge at him, but before he could make a move, Cyrus continued. "I would not recommend this brother. Unless you want dear Marcel to stake himself."
They turned their eyes to Marcel who had produced a stake and had aimed it at his heart.
"Alright, brother. You have us all here. What do you want?"
"I want to turn back time and get the girl. Can you provide it? No, then SHUT UP ELIJAH, YOU SANCTIMONOUS FUCK!" He bellowed and then looked at Klaus. "So, brother. Was it worth it? I see you have settled again in this fine city. New Orleans. Perhaps I should burn it to the ground."
"You had it coming, brother. YOU BETRAYED ME!"
"I betrayed you? Me? I offered you a chance to do your stupid sacrifice right. I told you what you needed to do to get what you want and instead you smashed it all to bits on the floor." He chuckled darkly. "Perhaps, you were meant to fail. Perhaps it is destiny. The bastard brother indeed."
Elijah decided to put an end to this. "Brother. Please. Katerina is still out there. Klaus never managed to locate her. Go. Find her and let's live in peace. Let us put an end to this squabble once and for all. I implore you to show reason."
If looks could kill, Elijah would surely be dead as the glare that was currently piercing his eyes was truly poisonous. Cyrus grumbled to himself, but then suddenly, he smiled. Not a true smile, but one of spite and cruelty.
"Very well, brother." Cyrus smirked and lifted his arms. "I shall leave your city in peace. But first, I would like to leave you something to remember me by." Then he turned to Marcel. "Marcellus Gerard, here is my final command after which you will be freed. You shall maintain this suicidal stance until midnight. Should any of my siblings deign to leave this place, you will stake yourself. The same if anyone tries to enter this place. The slightest move from them and you will stake yourself. A single word from them and you shall stake yourself."
Cyrus jumped from the altar and straightened his coat. "You will be free at the stroke of midnight." Cyrus went for the doors, but before he left through them, he addressed Klaus one last time. "Let's see how much of your precious city is left standing once I leave it. In pieces."
Only after midnight, were we free from Cyrus's threat to Marcel's life. He knew none of us would hurt him. He knew Klaus and I cared for the boy and that Rebekah, due to her still lingering feelings for the man, would not let him die like that either. By the time Cyrus Mikaelson left New Orleans, half the city had been set ablaze and hundreds of their family's subordinates in the city were put to the death.
|
The first time her phone rang, she tried to ignore it. Why on earth had she decided to use Taylor Swift for her ringtone again? It played out until the end, and Caroline was about roll over and go back to sleep when it started again. She groaned, pulling her covers over her head. She wasn't ready to face the day yet. Couldn't they just take the hint? She slapped blindly at her bedside table and eventually her hand fell on the phone,
"This better be good," she answered groggily.
"Have you seen Elena?" Caroline opened her eyes at the sound of Stefan's voice.
"No – what's wrong?"
"It maybe nothing but she's not answering her phone and nobody has seen her since last night. Have you talked to Bonnie?"
Caroline sighed. "Bonnie can barely look at me at the moment, Stefan."
"Right." There was a pause. "I'll find Bonnie and you can talk to Matt" It was a good thing he wasn't there to see the grimace on her face.
"Right," she said aloud. "I'll give him a ring right now." She hung up and called Matt, biting her lip as she wondered what lie Klaus had compelled him to believe the night before, in order to cancel their date for the Ball.
"Hello, stranger." There was a coolness to his tone that Caroline didn't like, but she ignored it. Time for that later.
"Hi Matt, have you seen Elena?"
"Elena? No, should I have?"
Caroline sighed. "Nobody has seen her since last night," she said. "Stefan and I are ringing around to confirm she didn't just crash somewhere else last night."
"Sorry, Care, I have no idea where she is, I haven't seen her since school yesterday," Matt said. "Listen, I've got to go."
Caroline winced inwardly at the chill in his voice. He was definitely not happy with her. "Oh... right...I'll see you in school later, okay?"
"Right," he said, and the line went dead, Caroline frowned, what the hell had Klaus said to him? She tapped out a text to Stefan and he texted back a few moments later.
"Bonnie hasn't seen her either. See you in school?"
Caroline rolled out of bed – welcome to Mystic Falls, where nothing ever happens... yeah, right.
She found Stefan and Bonnie, along with Jeremy, hiding out in Alaric's classroom with a map. The smell of Jeremy's blood hit her the moment she entered the room
"What's going on?" she asked, as her eyes falling on the map. Jeremy's blood was moving along it as if it had a life of her own.
"A location spell," Stefan said. "We still haven't found Elena and she is nowhere in town.
Caroline looked at Bonnie doubtfully, seeing the strain on her friend's face. "Are you sure you're okay doing this?"
She nodded abruptly. "I'm fine," she said. She didn't look fine but, as Bonnie could barely make eye contact with Caroline at the moment, never mind give her an honest answer, she decided not to push it. She glanced down and watched the blood slither across the map until it pooled near it's edge.
"That's the middle of nowhere," Jeremy said. "What the hell is she doing there?"
"Spiritual retreat?" The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them and she winced at the dark look she got from Bonnie. "Sorry, inappropriate humour." she murmured. Stefan folded his arms and glowered at the map. Never a good sign, in Caroline's opinion.
"I'm going to get her," he said, proving her right.
"By yourself?" Caroline asked.
"If I have to, yes," Stefan said. "I've already had my brother disappear on me, I can't lose Elena as well." The look of haunted desperation on his face cracked open a well of guilt that Caroline had been trying her best to ignore. It was her fault he was hurting so bad and her fault his brother was rotting in a grave. Why did such a raging asshole like Damon have such a sweet brother who actually missed him?
"She opened her mouth to say she would go with him - after all, Elena was her friend too and it was her fault that Damon wasn't there to back him up – but the words wouldn't come out. Her eyes widened as she realised what was happening. Damn it, Klaus's compulsion wouldn't let her leave Mystic Falls without his permission! Stefan looked at her curiously.
"Caroline, are you okay?" he asked.
"Just a little frustrated," Caroline said, as an excuse popped into her mind. "I was just thinking it's a pity my Mom is on vervain again or I could have convinced her into letting me take a cross country trip with you."
"Convinced," Bonnie snorted, giving her dark look.
"Well, what would you expect me to do, Bonnie?" Caroline snapped. "Tell her I'm a vampire so that she can also treat me like I'm just some kind of monster walking around in her daughter's skin? Sorry, I've already got one of those in my life, I don't need two.
A look of almost guilt crossed Bonnie face. "Caro-"
"Save it," Caroline said. "I've got class." She stalked out of the room, not really sure who she was more mad at, Bonnie or Klaus. Which was stupid, because Bonnie was just hurt and angry, while Klaus was homicidal monster – in the end, not really a competition.
Caroline sighed. Could she say she was really any better? She had killed three people in the last week and, while two of those deaths were technically self defence, what about Greta? Sure, she'd threatened Bonnie, and she was definitely angling to take her out of the equation in whatever game she'd been playing with Klaus but – in the end – hadn't she really just killed Greta because she didn't like her? Caroline might be blonde but she wasn't stupid. She knew a slippery slope when she saw one. Killing someone just because they got on your nerves was not the action of a proper human being.
But she wasn't human, was she? She was a vampire and that meant she was playing a different game with different rules, and if she didn't smarten up she wasn't going to make it to Christmas, never mind her next birthday. Caroline straightened her shoulders and pulled out her phone. The only way around Klaus's compulsion was to get him to lift it or change it somehow and she'd have to tell him Elena was missing in order to convince him – but his compulsion would force her to tell him everything this evening, anyway. If she called him now, she might at least get some advantage out of it
Ducking in the girl's bathroom, she hit dial
The phone call from Caroline had been a surprise, although it soon turned out to be an unpleasant one. "What do you man, she's missing!" he hissed down the phone.
"I mean nobody has seen her since last night but Bonnie has done a location spell and-"
"You can tell me in the car, I'll pick you up from outside your house in half an hour," he interrupted.
"What? No! I just need you to-"
He hung up before she could finish her sentence and turned to Maddox. "How many men do we have in the house?" he asked.
"Five vampires and myself," he said.
Klaus nodded. "We're going to need more," he said. "I have a peculiar suspicion we're going to receive a visit from my brother soon." He glanced towards the cellar door. "Which reminds me, I think it might be a good idea to take a few extra precautions – and have someone slip over to the school and meddle with Stefan Salvatore's car. Nothing too obvious, just something that will ensure he doesn't get too far in it."
He strode to the cellar door and descended the stairs. Katherine's desiccation was further advanced by now, but she was still conscious. He had Maddox feed the werewolf daily, as he still needed the pesky little fool alive. He needed a vampire and a werewolf to break the curse and he was a great fan of dramatic irony. the though of Katherine dying of the same fate she'd run from all those centuries ago pleased him... and as for the werewolf? Well, collateral damage and all that.
"Here to gloat again?" Katherine asked hoarsely.
"Perhaps next time," Klaus said. "But, for now, I'm going to leave you with a parting gift." He looked into her eyes, and enjoyed the feeling of power he had over her as her eyes dilated under his compulsion. "Listen very carefully to what I have to say..."
She jumped into the seat beside him the moment he pulled up outside her house, and automatically put her seat belt on. So young and still very human in her habits; that would change. He dropped a map on her lap.
"Show me where she is," he said.
She opened it up and pointed. "There," she said. "But Stefan has already left, we won't make it there before him."
"Already taken care of, love," he said, as he pulled out.
"What have you done to him?" she asked, looking up from the map
He rolled his eyes. "I've done nothing to him," he said. "Although the same can't be said for that vintage hunk of metal he drives. Poor Stefan, hitchhiking on a lonely country road, it may take him a while to reach his destination."
"You're such a dick," Caroline said, and Klaus smirked.
"Believe it or not, love, I've done him a favour," he said. "I don't think your Stefan would last very long against the person I think is waiting for him on the other end of that map trail."
She gave him a long look. "Who do you think it is?"
"My brother, Elijah," he said. "I think last night was an attempt to distract me while Elena was taken."
"Huh, that kind of makes sense," she said. She fell silent and Klaus glanced over at her, noting they little crease in her forehead.
"What are you thinking, love?" he asked.
She looked conflicted, as if she was trying to debate something with herself, before opening her mouth. "Why do you need Elena?"
Ah, it sounded like someone had been talking out of school – perhaps Greta? He had assumed Caroline had killed her because she posed a threat to her friend Bonnie, but perhaps he had misread the situation and it was more complicated than that. Could it be that little Caroline Forbes had made a tactical decision?
Interesting.
"She's the Doppelganger, love," he said, studying her response, and noting her lack of surprise. Somebody had definitely been talking out of school.
"But what does that mean?" she pressed. "Why is Elena so important?"
"She's a component for a spell, love," he said. "A very old one."
Caroline wrinkled her nose. "You talk about her as if she were a recipe ingredient."
He let out a bark of laughter. "In a way she is," he said.
"She's my friend, you know," she said, in a small voice. "And you're going to hurt her." He sighed. He'd known they'd have to broach the subject sooner or later, but he was rather hoping for later. He was liked the way things were between them at the moment.
"It's nothing personal," he said.
"Maybe not to you," Caroline said softly. She rested her head against the window and closed her eyes, and Klaus was not surprised when she didn't open them for the rest of the journey.
After what seemed forever, Caroline eventually felt the car slow and reluctantly opened her eyes. "What happens now?" she asked.
"Now we go and rescue your friend," he said, in a cheerful tone she found infuriating.
"So that you can use her later," she grumbled, as she opened the car door and stepped out. They were on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere and she could just make out a farmhouse in the distance. "Couldn't you have parked a little closer?"
"It would have given away our advantage of surprise and we can't have that," he said. "This is what we're going to do – you'll be the bait and I'll be the trap."
Caroline glared at him. "Seriously?"
"Caroline, I know you're a bit annoyed with me at the moment but, unlike my brother, I actually need your doppelganger friend alive, so do play along," he said.
Caroline sighed but nodded. "How do want me to do this?"
"Well, it's really quite simple love, knock on the door and be as loud and demanding as you like. We both know you're rather good at it." He blurred away before she could think of a come back and she stomped up the lane. He wanted loud and demanding? She was more than happy to provide.
The house at first seemed abandoned, but then she picked up the muffled but familiar cadence of Elena's voice, along with a couple of others she didn't recognise - one man and one woman. She stopped in front of the door, took a deep breath and banged the door knocker.
"Hallo!" she cried out. "Elijah? Open the damned door!" The voices fell silent and Caroline felt a moment of misgiving. What if Klaus had decided she'd outlived her usefulness? What if he lets Elijah kill her as a delaying tactic? The door opened to reveal a female vampire, who carefully kept to the shade of the door. Caroline glanced at her hands – no ring.
"You bellowed?" the woman said, in the bored voice of the eternally cynical and British.
"Why yes, I did," Caroline said brightly. "But I'm pretty sure I asked for Elijah, not his lackey."
"Oh, good grief," the woman muttered under her breath, before yelling over her shoulder. "Elijah, baby vampire with a daylight ring at the door – one of yours?"
"No, not one of mine," said a cool, cultured voice behind her, and Caroline jumped, despite herself. It seemed creepy stalker moves were a family strait. Slowly, she turned around. He looked in his late twenties or early thirties and wore a well tailored suit. One look in his eyes and she knew she was in trouble. This was not Klaus. Klaus was a vicious little shit but, for some odd reason, he found her entertaining. This guy didn't look remotely entertained.
"And who are you?" he said.
Caroline ventured a small smile. "Avon Lady?" The world spun and she found herself slammed against a wall in the foyer. Having your neck choked wasn't fun, even when you're a vampire. She grasped at his fingers and tried to pry them loose, but to no avail.
"Let's try this again," he said grimly, as he loosened his grip. Her feet fell back to the floor as she gasped for air.
"Shit."
Caroline watched as the other vampire was thrown across the foyer like a rag doll and slid along the polished floors. Her neck was at an awkward, broken angle. Elijah's head turned, and Caroline tried to make a run for it, only to find herself being dragged back by the hair and spun around. Her eyes widened as she noticed the stake in his hand.
"I don't take kindly to decoys," he said. Instinct made Caroline close her eyes, but she stumbled back as she suddenly found herself free of his grasp. She stared at the greying body on the floor, a chair leg caving in his chest.
"C'mon, love," Klaus said, extending his hand.
"But...but...you killed them," she said
"You're welcome," he said, as he grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the door. "Time to go."
But he's your brother" she said. "And you killed him."
"Not for long, unfortunately," he said. "I haven't retrieved the daggers yet. It's been some time since I've had an occasion to use them." He caught the puzzled look on her face. "He's not permanently dead, Caroline, he's an Original, it takes more than a stake to the heart to kill him."
So she supposed she could scratch 'stake Klaus in his sleep' off her list of potential plans. She scowled as she looked around. "Where's Elena?"
"I sent her along to the car," he said, noncommittally.
"And she just did as she was told?" asked Caroline, eyeing him suspiciously. He shot her a look and Caroline sighed. "You compelled her, didn't you?" She slowed as they reached the car, realising what was about to happen. Something must have showed on her face because his softened slightly
"She's not going to remember any of this, sweetheart," he said.
"Maybe not, but she'll know now. She'll know I've been going around behind their back and spying on her, "Caroline said.
"You act like you've had a choice," he said. "You didn't."
"Don't remind me," Caroline sighed.
He came to a halt. "Stay here, he said, before he shot forward, and Caroline wondered if she'd just made things worse as she watched him open the back door and stick his head in. She tuned into his voice. "You will sleep now and not wake up until morning. You will not remember any of the events of the last twenty four hours."
"I don't believe him," she murmured as he waved her over. For Klaus, this was almost a sweet gesture, which just went to show how much of a twisted bastard he was. She felt her mouth dry as she eyed the now sleeping Elena on the back seat.
"Problem solved," he said cheerily. "Get in.
It was night by the time they made it back to Mystic Falls, and Caroline waited in the car as he deposited the doppelganger on her porch.
"I want to go home," she said, as he sat back into the car.
"Later," he answered. They drove to his house in silence, with Caroline looking out the window, and it was almost a shock to hear voices when he pulled up to the house.
"Who are all these people?" Caroline asked.
"A few safety precautions," he said. ""I'm expecting to hear from my brother again very soon."
Maddox was waiting for him in the foyer. "Ah, just the man I was looking for," he said. "I need you to retrieve an item from my last abode – a wooden box, ye long." he measured out a foot with his hands. "It's in the bottom drawer of my study desk. I need it hear as fast as possible. If you leave now, you should make it back by morning."
He hesitated before nodding his head. "Of course, I'll leave immediately," he said.
"So loyal - have you compelled him too?" Caroline asked brusquely.
"You of all people should know that compulsion is a blunt tool, love," he said, as he pulled her into his study and closed the doors behind them.
"I don't know why you're even bothering to close the doors. The house is filled with vampires. They can hear everything you say," Caroline said.
He pushed her against the door, twisting her hair in his hand as he inhaled her scent.
"Seriously?" she muttered, "I thought we covered the fact the house is filled with vampires."
"But only two of them are here," he murmured back, before lifting her up and walking them both to the couch. They fell onto it and Klaus pulled her onto his lap.
"Something you want?" she asked, wriggling against him.
He didn't even bother to answer, she already knew what he wanted. He felt his hunger claw its way to the surface as he nuzzled her neck, smiling as she shivered. He nipped at her and mouthed the two little pinpricks of blood that swelled to the surface, closing his eyes as he savoured her taste
He sank his fangs into her.
She cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders and piercing his shirt and his flesh. It only took a few moments for her fangs to rip into him. No shyness this time.
He felt her pull at his jeans and he twisted her on the couch so that she lay beneath him. Such an eager little thing, he wondered if she knew how eager she was? His zipper gave, and she gave out a little sound of triumph against his neck before curling her hand around his cock. He pulled away, and she made a mewl of disappointment as he pried himself free of her hands and fangs.
"Try not to be so handsy, love," he murmured, and she puffed up, as if she was offended that he said such a thing. Klaus found it strangely endearing. He shoved up her dress, snagging her already damp panties, and ripped them off. She glared up at him, lips stained red with his blood, her skirt bunched up at her hips. The perfect picture of anger and arousal. He wondered how she'd react if he tied her hands above her head. Perhaps he should reinforce the bedposts of his bed.
He smiled at her and dove in for a kiss, making himself at home between her thighs. For him, this was the best part of Caroline - the way her body tensed in that moment before he entered her, that little breath that she didn't realise she took.
He let a hand slide down her thigh and locked her into place before he pushed into her. She let out a gratifying sound. Sweet little Caroline Forbes liked it rough and he was more than happy to oblige.
The couched protested under them but Klaus ignored it as he quickened his pace, adjusting it as he felt her legs curl around him and try to pull him closer. He was beginning to recognise all her little tells. The way her back arched when she wanted him to go deeper, the way her fingers curved into claws when she came. It was at this point he usually became bored with a woman in his bed, but he couldn't seem to stop the craving.
Klaus watched, fascinated, as her eyes fluttered closed, and revelled in the feel of her fingers digging into his back as she tightened around his cock. He shuddered with her, feeling his own release gather as he kissed her lips. They were inviting and soft and parted easily for him. He held on as long as he could, relishing the way she writhed under him, before spilling into her. She cried out into his mouth.
He collapsed on top of her and waited for their thrum of their hearts to ease, stroking her hair absently as his mind turned over the future. Truth be told, Caroline's usefulness as a spy had been somewhat eroded as a result of his earlier than planned return to Mystic Falls, but he found her...diverting, and that was not a phrase he used for a lot of people. Perhaps he could convince her to make a more permanent arrangement?
But that meant he would have to to seduce her into his life as well as his bed, and what did he have to offer that Caroline Forbes would want?
"I have to go," she murmured, as if sensing his thoughts. He let her slip from under him, and watched as she pulled her skirt down over a gloriously firm ass. She threw him a look over her shoulder, but didn't bother with goodbyes before she disappeared out of the room. He listened to her slip out of the house as he sank back onto the couch and thought of the inevitable battle to come, and how he definitely needed to reinforce those bedposts.
|
He wakes up to the sounds of life that are telling of a busy household – loud noises of people talking and pots and pans being used and somewhere in the distance chickens clucking. It takes him a moment to realize he is not at Birmingham anymore and Niall is not eating and lounging lavishly on the bed opposite his.
He is home. And it is his mother in the kitchen cooking breakfast. It brings a smile to his face, he is finally back home. Although he is not sure what he is supposed to be doing now that he is here. At school, he could go to the library in the morning before he had to go for class. He could drag Niall along to go to Zayn and Liam’s room where they would spend hours just sitting around doing nothing. Sometimes they’d play cards or stupid games that Niall came up with. But they always had something to make the time pass.
As he gets up and gets ready for a bath, he thinks about how life had been so different in Birmingham. He was his own man and he could do what he wanted. Here, he was answerable to his parents. And all he could do was sit around alone or walk about aimlessly.
When he finally makes his way downstairs he is greeted by a swarm of people cleaning around and moving furniture. He walks toward the drawing room where he can hear his mum talking. He enters the door to find her talking hurriedly with Ms. Baker.
“—move the sofa to the library. We need some free space in the lobby for moving about anyway. And also—“
“Mother, what is going on? Why is everyone—“
“Oh Harry! Good morning, I did not want to wake you up this early. You must have been tired from all that travelling yesterday.”
“It’s fine, I usually get up around this time. Is anyone visiting?”
“Oh, no it’s just for you. I thought you might want to use the library for studying, nobody ever goes in there anymore and now you can use it.”
“Thank you, mother. But I do not really need you to move anything around. I’m sure it’ll be just fine how it is.”
“Oh nonsense! It’s no bother Harry. Oh you must eat something, here let me get you—“
“It’s alright, mum. You should finish up what you were doing, I can get it myself.”
“I can do it, Harry. You just need to sit down.”
“Mum, it’s okay. I am not tired anymore and I do not need to be served all the time. You need not worry about it. I will go find something.”
She smiles up at him before turning around to Ms. Baker and talking about the fireplace being cleaned out.
He weaves through the lobby and the dozen maids in there to make his way to the kitchen. The smell of freshly baked bread greets him before he even enters.
Louis is standing next to the counter in the corner with a teacup in his hand and a plate of toast close to his arm. He looks up when he hears Harry’s footsteps and a scowl finds its way onto his features before he silently looks away and puts the cup to his lips.
Harry can not help but feel irritated at being dismissed so easily by the boy. And what is he even doing here anyway.
“I wasn’t aware the stable has been moved to the kitchen.”
“Do you usually go to the stable for breakfast?”
He has to clench his jaw to stop himself for saying something indecent. This boy just makes him want to curse and swear every time he sees him but his mother would have his head if she ever heard him.
“What are you doing here?”
“With a tea cup in my hand? Knitting a shawl.”
“What are you doing in the kitchen, I mean.”
“I was drinking my tea before you rudely interrupted.”
“You shouldn’t be inside the house. Much less in the kitchen ‘drinking your tea.’”
“I am almost finished and I am going to pretend I didn’t just hear that.”
“Why? You are being paid to work in the stable so you should be working in the stable. Not drinking tea inside the house.”
He knows he could be a bit more sensitive with what he wants to say but something about this boy makes him want to be rude and as hurtful as he can be. There’s this frustration he feels every time he sees Louis and the only way he knows to deal with it is with biting words.
Louis picks up his plate and walks out the back door before Harry can say another word. He is left standing in the kitchen feeling satisfied and yet helpless at what he has just done. He ignores the slight bit of discomfort in favour of eating breakfast.
***
Louis had woken up on his own today thanks to the chickens clucking loudly from the pen. When he had made his way to the kitchen after a long bath, he found everyone inside the house milling about and cleaning up rather piously.
When he asked Ms. Baker about it she had smiled at him warmly and told her ‘Mrs. Styles wanted to clean up the library and move some furniture in there to get it ready for Master Styles.’
He had involuntarily wrinkled his nose at the mention of ‘Master Styles’ and it hadn’t gone unnoticed.
“Do you not like him?”
“What?”
“Your face is all sour. Did you have an unpleasant meet with him?”
“I would say so. He is so, so vain. So much pride. I wish he was more like Ms. Gemma. She is handsome and really sharp too but she doesn’t go around treating people with disdain.”
“You just have to know him better, Louis. Harry is not vain, he just knows he is eligible. It takes him a while to warm up to people. Give him some time.”
“I’m sorry to say Ms. Baker, but I really do not care for him. Everyone else has been so nice to me, I don’t have to know him. How often would I run into him, anyway.”
“He is the master of the house, Louis. You should try to be considerate of him. Be a little polite, and try not to be very sarcastic.”
“Sure.”
He had tried to forget about the boy and the bitter taste it left in his mouth when he was mentioned. And he was just peacefully sipping on his tea in silence when the person in question had stumbled in and like usual the first words out of his mouth were insulting.
Louis thought back to Ms. Baker’s words and tried to bite his tongue but something about the boy’s smug face had made him respond in kind. As much as he despised the person, he could appreciate that he was quite snarky like himself.
And then he went and openly put Louis down for being poor as if he had any say in the matter, and the way he said it was so demeaning that Louis couldn’t stand there for another minute in his company. He felt sick at the way the younger boy was looking down at him.
There was a peculiar expression on his face that to Louis screamed vain so he dumped his plate and walked out of the kitchen.
And that is why he is in the stable right now angrily feeding Jasper and telling him what a tosser the ‘master of the house is’.
“He went to Birmingham, oh bite me. Good for him. But does that give him the right to go around and insult people because they weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth? I just want to hit him in the face and wipe that arrogant look off it.”
Gemma finds him an hour later still muttering to himself. She startles him by tapping on his shoulder from behind while he’s still mumbling and he jumps a foot in the air and dropping the hay he was holding.
“Why are you muttering under your breath like an old lady?”
“You scared me! I didn’t even hear you coming in.”
“I know, I was quiet.”
“What are you doing here now?”
“Oh I was thinking of going for a ride. It’s nice out today. What were you mumbling?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“Oh, but I do.”
“Gemma, stop.”
She has a notorious look on her face before she holds her hands out in front of her and advances toward him. His eyes widen at the sudden realization of what is about to happen and he tries to back away before his back hits the wall. She is now laughing and walking toward him faster.
“Gemma, no. Please, I will tell you.”
“Too late.”
She says before cornering him and tickling him mercilessly until he is on the floor crying for help. She gets off of him eventually but he has got tears in his eyes and she is laughing with her head thrown back.
He is actually surprised that no one heard him crying out because he was so loud that his throat is scratchy. He wipes his eyes and looks over at Gemma who is sitting next to him with mud on her dress and still laughing.
He thinks about how young and carefree she looks right now. Usually she has to be proper and well mannered and she looks like she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. She looks like a lady.
But when she is alone with him, she shows him a side of herself that reminds him of his sisters. They are playful with each other and call each other names, she had actually asked him to call her Gemma just so they do not feel like they are bound by the social customes that require him to bow down to her and never be alone with her in a room.
He still remembers the first time she had come to the stable late in the day and asked him if she could talk. He had been so scared that he had done something wrong. But she had just sat him down and asked him if he could be her friend.
‘My brother is gone and you are just a little bit older than him and you remind me of him. Will you be my brother?’
And he had seen Lottie’s face in hers for a moment before nodding his head.
And that is how he had started calling her Gemma and how they had grown close enough that she comes to the stable just to sit with him for hours and talk or tickle him whenever she please just for her entertainment. And he doesn’t mind one bit.
“That’s not very lady-like.”
“Oh god, not you too. Louis, please stop talking like that.”
“Is everything alright? Why do you sound so—“
“Because Birmingham has turned my brother into an arrogant snob.”
He laughs out loud at her confession and he can’t stop until he catches her looking at him with a curious face.
“Why are you laughing so hard? You don’t even know him that well.”
“I think I know him enough.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Now do you want me to come along or are you going alone?”
She is still looking at him with narrowed eyes but after a moment of silence gets up and offers her hand to him.
“I was thinking of going to the forest for a bit.”
“Gemma, I’ve told you before. You could get lost in there. Do you not remember the last time?”
“That was so long ago and I have gotten better at riding now.”
“It is still dangerous, even I don’t go there unless I have to.”
“Alright, so then you can come with me.”
“Are you going to be adamant about this?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, let us go then.”
She smiles widely and runs over to Jasper. Well, looks like he Is going to spend most of his day horse riding through the forest with Gemma.
***
He has been in his room the whole day doing nothing and it Is not even noon yet. Harry does not like being idle for this long. After trying to read for about an hour he gives up and goes to find Gemma.
When he cannot find her anywhere, he thinks of asking his mother but it is a right quest to find her too. Finally, he sees her outside the house with a basket in her hand. Maybe she and Gemma had gone into town then.
“Mum, did you go to town?”
“No, I was at the Browns’. But I do have some goods I need from the shops. I was going now, there might be a letter from your father too.”
“Oh, did Gemma go with you?”
“No, I went by myself.”
“Do you know where Gemma is? I can’t seem to find her anywhere.”
“Oh, she has gone riding with Louis. He went with her because the last time she went to the forest alone she—“
“He went with Gemma? Alone?”
“They are not alone if they go together, Harry.”
“Mother, I mean you sent him with Gemma?”
“Well, he knows his way around the forest and he was the one that saved her the last time. He wouldn’t let her go alone, I think it is really nice of him to go with her.”
“Mum, I have been meaning to talk to you about him. He is a servant but he seems to come and go rather freely, even inside the house. This morning I saw him in the kitchen like he was invited—“
“He is invited freely. I don’t—“
“He is a servant, mother. And he shouldn’t be—“
“Harry. I told you this yesterday too, he is working for us but we trust him and we treat him like he is a part of the family. He—“
“Why?”
“What has gotten into you? He is a good boy and he is away from his family. Your father and I are quite fond of him, Mr. Styles actually offered him a room in the house but he declined. So, I do not need you to tell me—“
“You trust him enough to send him alone with Gemma? She is of marriageable age now and he is a man—“
“Harry. I do not wish to have this discussion with you. I have made it quite clear that your father and I explicitly trust Louis even with Gemma. If you want, you can discuss this with your father upon his return. And I would appreciate it if you could be kind with Louis until then. I am not feeling very well now. I would like it if you could go to see if your father has sent a letter.”
He watches his mother walk away from him with a disappointed look on her face and he is left standing there wondering what he did wrong. He is just worried about his sister who seems a bit too enamoured with the hired help.
Actually come to think of it, everybody around here is a bit too enamoured with the help. His mother seems to think Louis can do no wrong. His sister – who called him a snob just yesterday – is going away horseback riding through the forest with him. Just what has he done to everyone around here?
But Harry sees him for what he is, a person who works at the Estate and is getting paid for it. And he is all for being nice to everyone and treating everyone kindly but something about Louis unsettles him.
And it is not even a question of personal preference; it is just a matter of how things work. Gemma and his parents should not be freely mingling with the help. It is just how society works.
Thinking all of this, he makes his way to the town and when he gets to collect the post, he is told there is a letter for Mrs. Styles and one for him. Ignoring all the curious looks he gets from the ladies and the gentlemen equally, he starts to walk back to Longbourn.
On his way, he opens the letter addressed to him and finds it written by Niall telling him the boys want to visit this week. He smiles when he reads the almost illegible scribble of his friend telling him all about how they all miss him and want to see him as soon as possible.
He rushes off to his room to write a response telling Niall to get the boys and come to Longbourn as soon as they can. Just as he is making his way to the main gate, he sees Gemma and Louis leading their horses back and laughing about something.
He stops walking and waits for them to approach, Louis is talking about something while moving his hands around and Gemma looks like she is hanging on to every word out of his mouth and then they both laugh again. Harry feels himself clenching his hand involuntarily as a spike of something unpleasant flares through him but he pushes it down and smiles at Gemma when they approach.
“How was your ride?”
“Oh it was fun, Louis here knows all the good spots. I am famished now, though. Louis, can you tie up Jasper for me and then come to the kitchen. I’ll get Ms. Baker to fix us something to eat.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Gemma.”
Gemma hands the reins to Louis but snorts when she hears him say Ms. Gemma. Harry looks on curiously but when she catches the look on his face, she stops abruptly.
Just as he’s about to ask her why, she starts walking toward the house. It is just on the tip of his tongue to ask her but then something catches his eye. There is dirt on her dress and there’s a straw stuck in the lace that stops his words on his tongue. Why would she have hay and dirt on her dress?
When he turns around, Louis is no longer standing there and Harry is furious as he makes his way to the stable.
***
Today has been so nice, Gemma and he rode deep into the forest and he showed her the lake with the promise that she would not try to go there alone. It had been nice to just relax during the day and talk freely with her rather than be on his best behaviour like he would have to be at the house.
And then ofcourse he had to see Harry.
He was waiting at the gate when they got home and just looking at his face, Louis could feel the happiness from the day slipping away. He tries to forget about him as he is tying up Jasper but then he hears footsteps behind him and he prays it is Gemma again come to torment him but no luck.
“Louis, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I haven’t been very nice to you or you to me. But I think we should try to be more polite.”
He turns around and looks at him silently as Harry is making a show of being a perfect gentleman. Louis can tell it is a show because his eye is twitching while he says all this and Louis knows all about twitching eyes and pretending to be polite.
“Right. Well, I have only been impolite because you insult me in every conversation we have had.”
“And I am going to stop. But you have to concede that there are some boundaries, some limits that should not be crossed. I know my parents trust you and Gemma is fond of you but you have to know that she is a lady of marriageable age and you are a man and so there needs to be a certain decorum with how you two interact.”
“I am sorry, are you suggesting that—“
“I am not suggesting anything, I am merely pointing out that the manner in which you interact could be misconstrued by society.”
Louis pushes down on the sudden surge of anger that he feels blooming in his chest.
“Are you suggesting that I have in any way disrespected Ms. Gemma? Or that—“
“What are your intentions with her? Are you involved with my sister?”
He can feel himself drown in anger at the expression he sees on Harry’s face and the question he has just been asked. Gemma is like Lottie to him, he loves her like a sister and this bastard has the nerve to stand here and question his motives.
His jaw is clenched, so are his fists as he very timidly asks,
“What gave you that impression? Because I have been nothing but courteous and respectful toward Ms. Gemma.”
He sees Harry change his stance and with a somewhat determined look on his face ask him the most hurtful question he has ever been asked in his lifetime.
“Then why was there mud on her dress? Did something inappropriate happen while you were gone from the house? Because I might tolerate you in the kitchen but I will certainly not tolerate any untoward behavior toward my sister from you—“
He doesn’t know when he moved but he finds himself attacking the younger boy with his shoulders squared as they connect with his torso and the next thing he hears is a grunt. He does not see where he is hitting or how strongly, he is just blindly landing blows and kicking while being hit in return.
It is all a mess of limbs, his back hits the floor at some point and he has got a heavy weight on him as Harry straddles his waist and pulls on his shirt while Louis writhes around and finally gets back on top. He can hear rugged breathing near his ear and heated skin under his hands as he pushes and pulls. At some point they end up on hay and he can feel wetness soaking his trousers from the wet mud on the floor. Harry looks flustered under him and he has hay in his curly but the tussle continues even as Louis becomes distinctly aware of how close he is to Harry and how his hair smells of the ocean.
It is all a haze of laboured breathing and warm skin, they’ve been at it for a while - both of them wanting to best the other and ending up on top despite the decided intimacy of this. But they do not stop until they hear a loud shriek from the stable door and then they freeze where they are.
Louis straddling Harry’s frail waist with his hand around his neck and the other one in his hair. Harry on the floor and his fingers digging into Louis’ waist as they bunch up the shirt there. They are both panting from the struggle and they are stunned looking at Gemma who is equally stunned and silently looking back.
Then she clears her throat and it is as if a trance has been broken. Louis lofts himself up and away from Harry, who stands up and rights his clothes. Louis can see that Harry’s shirt is ruffled and out of his trousers. His hair looks wild with hay in them and there is a streak of mud on his face. He almost lifts his hand to clean it before he realizes what he is doing and sharply looks away.
“What were you two doing? What is going on here?”
“He attacked me. Hit me right in the torso with his bony shoulders and then proceeded to hit me—“
“And you just lay there pliant?”
He looks over angrily at the boy whose cheeks colour brightly at the words uttered by him. He doesn’t have time to ponder this as Gemma cuts his thoughts short.
“Louis! Why did you—“
“He asked me if something inappropriate happened when we were in the forest.”
Gemma gapes at her brother wordlessly and Louis chances a glance to find Harry already looking at him. He looks away immediately before he can think why.
“He came in here asking me what were my intentions toward you and if we are involved.”
“Harry! I can’t believe you would think that. Whatever gave you—“
“You went away to an unknown place with the stable boy.”
“Stop calling him that.”
“That’s what he is.”
“I do not know even you. Who are you? You are not my brother, he would never say that.”
“Say what? He is a stable boy. And you should not be going alone—“
“That is my business and none of your concern.”
“Gemma, I am just—“
“Harry. I do not wish to have this conversation with you. If you want to continue speaking to me, do not even bring this up again.”
“Fine.”
“And don’t talk to Louis if you cannot be courteous enough.”
“What about him? He can just attack me whenever he wants?”
“Louis, are you going to keep attacking my brother?”
“I’d rather kill myself before having another interaction with him at all.”
He answers crisply while looking at the man in question. Harry looks back at him with a clenched jaw and Louis feels this sudden urge to touch it. He is jolted at the realization and turns sharply toward Gemma.
“Good. You can both go without fighting now.”
She walks out of the stable and he is left alone with Harry.
He feels being watched, but he does not take his eyes off the ground. When it has been a while, he looks up and finds sharp green eyes looking at him. It was not this tense in here before.
“I have four sisters at home. I don’t know why I am telling you this but I would never allow anyone to hurt or disrespect Ms. Gemma in any way.”
He walks out of the stable before he can hear what Harry has to say.
***
He stands in the empty stable looking at the door where Louis has just walked a moment ago. He thinks about what he has been told. He might not be very fond of the boy but even he could tell that there was no word of lie in what he just told Harry.
He still does not understand the wave of hotness he felt on his cheeks and all the way down when Louis had stopped moving above him and Gemma was standing at the door. He wants to deny the warmth he can feel on his neck right now but it’s there.
So, there is more to the stable boy than biting comments and the scowl that covers his features whenever Harry is is around.
He stops himself from thinking that the boy is actually beautiful, his eyes even more piercing from up close and his thin lips inviting.
He stops himself from thinking any of this and instead walks out of the stable to go post the letter to Niall.
***
|
Lexa was always a heavy thinker. Her mind was always sprinting. With strategies, with solutions. The smallest problem could have her up for days on her throne staring hard at the floor until the moon rose behind her and her eyes begged for rest.
Nights like these made her regret having her advisor executed. Titus had been a smart man, calculated, thorough. He knew how to make Lexa see the smallest detail. To make her make good decisions quicker. Without him she was slower. She thought more on the cons when before she rarely cared for them. And it irritated her somewhat.
Nights like these brought regret and guilt. But also affirmation of her stance in being a good commander. Thinking through a decision first was the right way. Titus had always taught her as much.
Clarke both loved and hated finding Lexa in these moments. On the one hand she loved Lexa being spaced out. It gave clarke time to unashamedly stare at her lover. To scan the sharp planes of her beautiful perfect face. From the tops of her braids to the perfect bow of her lips.
Lexa could think for hours. And Clarke could stare for hours.
On the other hand, Clarke hated rolling in bed at night to find Lexa's side of the furs cold. She hated the lonely dark walk up to the throne room. And she hated finding Lexa looking worn and exhausted, sometimes even asleep, on her throne. She hated coaxing Lexa out of her own mind and down to bed. It exhausted them both.
Clarke's hand brushed around the top of her little baby bump a moment and she stifled a long yawn as she quietly watched Lexa again working her mind late into the night. She sighed tiredly to herself for another nights work and moved from her stance by the door.
"Hey" Clarke called softly as she approached Lexa stood over her map table.
The commander lifted her head long enough out of her thoughts to smile at clarke before she returned to her task. Clarke moved to her side and wrapped her arm around Lexa's waist, squeezing gently when Lexa failed to notice.
"What're you working on?" She asked peering at the maps herself.
She frowned seeing the layout of the Delphikru borders beneath Lexa's stare. She'd heard rumours of their unrest but she'd never thought it was a serious issue. Clearly Lexa did.
Clarke ran her hand up Lexa's back, rubbing at the tension she felt hiding beneath Lexa's shirt. Her eyes ran worryingly over Lexa's eyes, which stared continuously at the map like a lifeline she loathed to take.
"Lexa?" Clarke took the commanders hand when she failed to answer.
Lexa looked away from the table finally. Her stinging eyes found Clarke's worrying ones and she allowed her lover to take her from her maps to her throne. Her walk was stiff thanks to the hours standing in one position, her bones ached terribly. The short walk to her throne felt like miles to her sore limbs. She felt Clarke's disapproval long before she felt herself being pushed down, forced to take her seat.
She started to object, "Clarke-"
"How long have you been stood there?" Clarke asked over her peering at Lexa's pale face in the candlelight.
Lexa shuffled guiltily on her throne and Clarke knew without being told that it'd been a while. She blew out an irritated breath.
"You'll make yourself sick staying up for weeks" she muttered stroking a hand down Lexa's face, "Then what use will you be to us?"
Lexa managed a tired smile back as she reached her hands out to touch Clarke's sides. She pulled the blonde closer and leant herself forward so she could rest her head against Clarke's stomach. The blonde's fingers slipped easily into her hair and drew circles against her scalp, making Lexa give the softest of sighs.
"You're worried" she murmured closing her eyes as the blonde dropped her other hand to massage the back of her neck.
Clarke breathed deeply. She is worried. Of course she is. Lexa is forever tired these days.
"What're you worrying about?" Clarke warily asked standing closer when Lexa's hands push her so.
Lexa stalls the moment. She nuzzles her nose into Clarke's clothes. She inhales deeply, allowing the sweet smell of the blonde's scent to calm her. She hesitated her answer. She didn't want her to worry too. Missing a night or two of sleep is fine for Lexa. She isn't the pregnant one.
Her thumbs trace circles from clarke's sides to the peak of her growing belly, seeking her child. She imagines a tiny heartbeat echoing Clarke's while she rests there.
This was what she did it for. This was what kept her up night after night. Keeping this safe.
"It doesn't matter" she mumbled looking up at the blonde with a tired smile, "Just a small problem. Nothing worth worrying yourself over"
Clarke looked like she wanted an explanation. Lexa didn't want to give one. Not when she knew it would bring the blonde stress. Stress that would not be good for the baby.
So Lexa locked away her worries behind a fresh smile and gently pulled the blonde down into her lap. She wrapped her arms around Clarke's waist after, hands landing to their usual stop at Clarke's belly. Beneath Clarke's skin a soft nudge touching Lexa's fingertips made her smile genuine.
"How is he today?" The commander asked nuzzling her lips against Clarke's temple the moment the blonde gave in with her stern frown and relaxed herself against lexa's shoulder. Clarke's eyes fluttered closed.
"Fine" she mumbled rubbing her palm over her belly, "We're fine"
Lexa's brow crinkled hearing the sadness masked in Clarke's voice. She looked to the blonde's still sleepy expression. She could tell clarke had missed her today.
Lexa sighed deeply to herself and held Clarke closer. She knew being commander put a strain on their relationship. And that Clarke was somewhat bitter for it when it dragged her away from Clarke too much. She knew Clarke worried about it, and especially now they were expecting a child. Clarke worried Lexa's duty would overshadow her love for her family.
But it never could.
Lexa pressed a soft kiss to Clarke's cheek and her heart bumped its old hopeless rhythm when Clarke smiled. For a moment Lexa was able to forget their troubles.
"Clarke kom Skaikru" she uttered softly into the blonde's hair. The woman on her lap delicately shivered in answer.
"Sha, heda?" Clarke answered patiently.
Lexa kissed her head again and then moved her lips down, chasing the skin on clarke's cheek to her jaw and throat. Drinking in every inch of Clarke her lips could reach.
Clarke breaths slowed in reply and her hand came up to hold tightly onto Lexa's wrist. Both encouraging her to continue and warn her to stop. Lexa paid no attention. Clarke's heart always spoke her true desires. And right now it was humming for more.
"Lex!" Clarke gasped and bit her lip to keep quiet, "What're you doing?!"
Lexa's smile smeared across clarke's throat in reply. Carefully she brought her hands down to the back of Clarke's left knee and guided it to turn and press against the seat of the throne so Clarke sat with a leg either side of her.
Clarke looked down at Lexa after. She looked confused and excited and somewhat nervous too. Lexa ran the pad of thumb across Clarke's cheek, with a smile when the blonde leant into her hand. She leant up after to capture the blonde's lips. They kissed slowly at first, lips trading soft pecks and playful nips. But then Clarke's tongue brushed Lexa's and a heat rose up the commander's back.
With Clarke's tongue gracing her mouth Lexa's hands danced down the blonde's back, sneaking low beneath her shirt to rub circles into her hips. Her squeezing palms caused the blonde to dance up under touch and let loose a soft giggle against Lexa's lips that echoed about the abandoned throne room. Lexa smiled happily at the sound. She'd missed hearing Clarke laugh.
"Lets go to bed, ai niron" she husked into Clarke's ear. The blonde looked down at her eagerly.
"Sha, heda" she whispered back but made no attempt to climb off the commander.
Lexa grinned up at her and caught Clarke down into another kiss. She carefully stood as they kissed, moving only slightly away so she could carry Clarke in her arms across the large room to the double doors. From there she moved with practiced blind grace through the halls of the tower.
The blonde continued with her kisses the entire way to their bedroom, sometimes moving away from Lexa's bruised lips to pepper her neck in sweet little marks that had Lexa's hands holding the blonde tighter to her chest.
"If you're not careful we might not make the bed" Lexa warned playfully.
Clarke chuckled and moved back in Lexa's arms. Her hands cupped the back of Lexa's neck, her nails just digging in in a way that had Lexa's skin tingling.
"That has never stopped us before, commander" Clarke husked stroking her thumb beneath Lexa's right eye.
Lexas eyes closed feeling it doodle around her face. She smiled knowing the design Clarke was tracing on her skin. It was the one she'd worn when they first met. When they battled. When they first kissed. One she might soon wear again.
A pain entered her heart quickly and she eroded it even quicker by taking Clarke quickly into their room to their bed. Clarke was smiling as Lexa set her carefully over the furs and began gently peeling off her clothes. With every piece of flesh exposed creating a chill on Clarke's skin Lexa pressed a warm kiss to fight the cold away. Each one had Clarke shuddering beneath her. And wriggling to fight off the building frustration in herself. Lexa moved slower in return, lengthening the torture. By the time Lexa had Clarke's pants off the blonde was a tumbling mess already.
"Lexa" she whimpered holding her hands out to the brunette.
Lexa looked her over, eyes stopping calmly on clarke's belly before locking with the blonde's. She smiled at Clarke's silent demand to come closer and heeded her lover's wants immediately. Lexa settled on her side next to the blonde, grinning like a lovestruck teenager when Clarke immediately clenched a fist into her shirt and yanked her closer. Taking the hint Lexa carefully climbed over the blonde, resting herself happily in her usual place of protection over their bump. Her body warmed feeling the heat of their child lying between them. And she smiled down at her sky princess when their baby moved. Clarke chuckled seeing the awestruck twinkle that always reached Lexa's eyes when she felt her child kicking.
"He missed you" she husked reaching for Lexa's hand so she could press it over the small bump.
Lexa's fingers splayed out over Clarke's stomach and her smile only grew warmer feeling her child move happy and safe beneath her hand. She loved it when Clarke told her little things like that.
"As I missed him" she breathed back darting her eyes to Clarke's smile again. She bent down after to kiss the blonde, "And you, ai niron"
Clarke's smile tasted like the heat of summer when Lexa kissed her. Their lips moved slow at first, pleasantly languid, before Clarke's hips moved up against lexas stomach, pushing a soft moan from the commander.
Quickly Lexa felt her clothes being torn from her back. And her hands being pressed to her favourite soft warm flesh. And her lips grazing sweet skin that shook and gasped pleasantly beneath her eager touch. Lexa's heart was on fire with the love she felt encompassing her in that bed with Clarke.
"Ai hod yu in" she whispered continually through the night, never quite sure Clarke could hear her over her own gasps and moans.
Lexa didn't mind. She knew Clarke felt it anyway.
|
It was the kindness Steve hated most of all.
Because everyone was kind. The Mindhealers were as kind as they could be as they did their best to patch him up, but there was only so much they could do with broken bonds. With two broken bonds. With two severed pieces of his soul that would never stop bleeding, no matter how much time he spent with them.
Other Heralds were kind, but their kindness was uneasy around the edges, because Steve was their worst nightmare come to life, reminding them that they, too, could lose their Companions. That their soul-deep heart link could be snuffed out and leave them alone.
The servants of the Heralds' Wing were kind. They'd been especially kind when he'd walked into their room and hit his knees, unable to breathe. Winter's mindvoice had brought him out of it, a solid rock to cling to in a storm-tossed sea. The servants had packed up their room, put Bucky's things in storage, where they'd be safe. Maybe someday he could look at them but not…now.
He'd been assigned a new room, but he wasn't sleeping there. He was sleeping in the Companions' stable, on a cot leftover from last year's foaling, and Winter was sleeping next to him. It was the only way either of them could sleep.
Bruce was kind. He offered to contact Bucky's family, to explain what had happened beyond the official notification. To play intermediary if they wrote to Steve.
And they would, Steve knew. They'd thought Bucky should marry him.
Everyone was kind and it grated like broken bones grinding together.
* * *
He was honest with the Mindhealers. In turn, they were honest with him. Blunt. Very few people survived the death of their lifebonded. It was almost unheard of for Heralds to survive the death of their Companion. The two combined meant they were extremely concerned he would suicide.
He wasn't sure laughing did anything to assuage their concerns.
:Steven.: Winter was a gentle whisper in the back of his mind. :They don't understand.:
"We made our choice," he said. "I don't know if it was the right one or the wrong one, but we made our choice. We're not going to change it now."
"We?"
"Winter and me. Bucky and Shield died for us and they died for their duty. We won't let that be for nothing." And they always, always had those bursts of love to cling to, flickering lights in the darkness. "We made our choice."
* * *
The Mindhealers finally released him. They still wanted to see him from time to time, they weren't happy—Steve was existing from day to day, but not much more than that—but satisfied he wasn't a suicide risk, there wasn't a great deal they could do for him.
He'd taken refuge in a barren garden to eat his lunch, avoiding the crowd of Heralds and Trainees in the dining hall—too loud, too happy, too much—when Bruce appeared and sat down next to him. "Do you mind if I join you?"
Steve lifted one shoulder. "Seems you've already joined me." He dragged a brief smile from somewhere to soften it, because he wasn't trying to be rude.
"I guess I have." Bruce looked down at his hands, then up at the sky as Steve kept his eyes on his plate and waited. "The Circle would like to see you tomorrow morning, if that's alright with you."
"I'm not sure I can say no to the Circle, but that would be fine." Inside, something lit up. The Circle would give him an assignment. They'd give him something to do. A task, a job, something. He was a Herald. He needed to be a Herald. It was all he had left. "What time and where?"
Bruce told him, gave him a little nod, and stood. "It would be warmer inside."
"It would be," Steve agreed. "It's peaceful out here."
He opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded again. "Until tomorrow, Steve."
Steve watched him go and turned back to his lunch. It had grown cold, but, actually hungry for the first time in weeks, he finished it all.
* * *
Steve arrived on time, and the Trainee waiting outside the door gave him a hesitant nod before knocking and announcing him.
The room was on the ground floor of the Palace, large, with a well-used look about it, the large table in the middle battered and scarred, the chairs pulled around it obviously chosen more for comfort than appearance, since none of them matched.
Almost the entire Heraldic Circle was assembled, only the Herald Chronicler missing. Bruce was sitting in the chair closest to him and gave Steve a warm smile. Thor nodded solemnly, and his eyes were gentle. The others he knew but hadn't met beyond brief introductions: Herald Rhodes, the Lord Marshall's Herald, who refused to use his given name for reasons no one knew. Herald Shilo, the Seneschal's Herald, her coal black hair streaked with grey.
And of course, the King's Own. Herald Margaret, Peggy to everyone, or so it was rumoured she insisted, but Steve had never actually heard of anyone calling her that, apart from maybe the King himself. She was either Herald Margaret or the King's Own, and he wasn't sure it had anything to do with her rank. He thought it might just be her.
"Steven," she said, standing and gesturing him to a chair. "Please."
"No. Thank you," he added, clasping his hands behind his back. "I'll stand, if that's alright."
"Whatever you're most comfortable with," she replied, smiling gently at him. It faded a little as she stood and moved around the table. It left them arrayed on one side, facing him standing in the middle of the floor. He straightened his shoulders. He didn't care.
He'd stand in front of any amount of people for any length of time to be assigned something to do.
"Thank you for coming."
"Of course."
"I apologise in advance if this is distressing for you."
He nodded again, because there wasn't a lot he could say to that. Distressing wasn't a word that held much meaning when weighed against the dragging pain he and Winter carried with them.
"Herald Steven." It was Herald Shilo, the Seneschal's Herald, eyes dark with pity. Steve's hands curled into fists. "Forgive me for speaking of matters that will cause you pain, but we've called you here to discuss your situation."
"My situation."
"Yes. You no longer have a Companion. Usually when what happened to you happens, that doesn't…happen," she finished awkwardly.
Herald Rhodes turned to look at her. "What she means is that this isn't a situation that comes up very often."
Steve's lips tightened, suspicion beginning to pool in his gut. "You mean most Heralds have the courtesy to die with their Companions."
"That is not what I meant."
"Wasn't it?"
"Heralds," Herald Margaret said. "Stop. Steven, we're so glad you're alive."
He believed her. He believed she was glad he'd survived. Glad she didn't have to mourn another lost Herald.
"But Herald Rhodes is right," she went on. "This isn't a situation that often arises. But still, it's one we must answer. And the truth is that a Herald is a Herald because of their Companion. Companions are why the people of Valdemar know a Herald is a Herald, not some pretender in a white uniform. Companions are why trust can always be placed in a Herald, because a Companion always knows their Herald's heart."
It was gentle, swimming with compassion, but her eyes were firm. She was the King's Own, trusted to speak truth to the King himself, and behind the gentleness was solid steel.
"Steve. No one's saying you'd have to leave." It was Bruce, leaning earnestly forward. "You'll always have a place here. This is your home. Please don't think you ever have to leave."
He was being kind. Steve wanted to tear down the walls, ram the table and send it flying. Kind. He didn't need kind. He needed to do his duty.
His voice was one step up from a growl. "When I became a Herald I pledged my sword, my heart. My life. I still have my sword. I still have my life. I am still a Herald and no one can take that from me."
Three mouths opened, about to speak—Herald Margaret, Herald Shilo, Herald Rhodes—and he sliced his hand through the air, cutting them off, anger rising.
"I am not Tylendel," Steve said harshly. "I was not repudiated. Shield died." And he knew it was unfair, the history books said Tylendel had been pushed past the point of sanity when Gala had cast him off, but there was no room in him for fair.
This was all he had left. If they denied him… The pain rose up, threatening to swamp the flicker of light he was clinging to.
"No one is suggesting anything of the sort," Herald Margaret said firmly. King's Own, outranking everyone, and Herald Shilo bit back whatever she'd been going to say and sat back. "But a Herald must have a Companion."
The doors at the end of the room swung open, shoved wide by the gaping Trainee, and Winter paced forward, hooves clicking on the wooden floor. He stopped at Steve's shoulder and lifted his head, fixing his gaze on the King's Own.
:He has me.:
From their wide-eyed, half-shocked expressions, Steve knew every Herald in the room had heard him.
"Are you saying…" Herald Margaret stopped, like the question was unthinkable. And for Winter, it was. Her Companion, Rolan, he Chose again when his Herald died, Companion to King's Own after King's Own, but he was Grove-Born, ageless, unique among Companions, as far beyond them as Companions were beyond horses.
For another Companion to even hint at it…
Unthinkable. But still she asked. "Are you Choosing Steven?"
:No. My Chosen is gone. My heart,: he stepped into Steve, broad shoulder bumping against his and, like a drowning man reaching for a line, Steve wrapped his hand around Winter's crest, :our hearts, are gone, but I still have my life. I am not Choosing, but I can choose. I will be his Companion and he will be my Herald and we will serve Valdemar together.:
"I'm not sure…" she started, then her face went blank, eyes distant and Steve knew Rolan must be mindspeaking her. She blinked suddenly, focus returning, and asked Winter, "He would not be your Chosen. How will you ensure he remains worthy of being a Herald?"
:I would know if anything happened to change him, to make him unfit to be a Herald. But he had a Herald's heart long before he was Chosen: Winter's head dipped low, his long forelock trailing over his nose. :Ask your own Companion what the chances are of it changing.:
"I've already been told."
Steve gripped Winter's crest tighter, and Winter swung his head around to nose Steve's chest. Some of the aching, agonising tension let go. "A Herald must have a Companion." The backs of his eyes burned, but he held on. "You said a Herald must have a Companion. I'm still a Herald. Winter is a Companion." He didn't mean to make it a challenge, but it came out as one.
Herald Shilo looked offended. Herald Margaret looked…sad, but only briefly, then she nodded. Bruce's concern was a living thing, but it was so free from pity it didn't hurt, and he nodded.
Thor said. "If it is Winter's choice, then it's a good solution."
"If Rolan supports it, I'm willing to do the same," Herald Rhodes said. "Heralds?"
"This is highly irregular," Herald Shilo muttered.
"Highly irregular circumstances call for highly irregular solutions," Bruce replied.
In the end, they all agreed.
Steve sagged with relief, his grip on Winter's crest the only thing keeping him standing.
* * *
That night while he carefully groomed Winter, he had to ask. :Are you sure?:
:Yes, Steven. I am sure.:
Steve crouched down, carefully working the soft brush through the feathery hair around Winter's hooves.
Winter dropped his head, blowing into his hair. :The beads from Shield's mane.:
He froze.
Winter's mindvoice was careful as he said, :I would wear them, if you wouldn't take it amiss.:
Steve rested his head against Winter's leg. :No. No, that would be.: He stopped to take a deep breath. :I think she'd like that.:
They were tucked away in his pack, stowed under the cot, and he pulled them out, a long curl of blue and white and silver. He'd cleaned them and dried them after Dugan brought them back, but they were still paler than they'd been.
It didn't take long to braid them into Winter's mane, just behind his ear, and they flashed as he shook his head, testing they wouldn't fall out. Steve pressed his fingertips against them and slowly breathed out, the light inside him flickering a little higher, a little warmer.
Winter nosed his arm. :Together.:
"Together."
* * *
With the promise of an assignment, with Winter's entirely unexpected intervention, Steve took to venturing out more.
He hadn't expected Bards.
He should have. Most of them were circumspect, polite. A lot of them were Bardic Trainees, looking for a song for their masterwork, and they were even more diffident when they approached, asked him if they could talk to him about what had happened.
Steve grit his teeth and politely told them all, "No."
It was enough, they backed off, and word seemed to get around. Eventually they stopped asking.
All but one. Bard Trayvis. Who wasn't a Bardic Trainee. Who was old enough to know better. He wouldn't take the hint, although Steve wasn't sure how 'No' could ever be construed as a hint.
Steve was walking across the Collegium courtyard, heading for the salle, looking forward to having Thor run him into the ground. It would exhaust him, it would leave him hurting, but those were all good things. Real things, distracting things.
When Bard Trayvis trotted over to fall into step with him Steve ignored him. Pointedly. There was no point talking to him since he didn't listen.
Trayvis hummed a few notes, then said, thoughtfully, "Don't you owe it to him?"
Steve stopped dead in his tracks.
Possibly sensing a victory, with no inkling of the rage rising to life inside Steve, he went on, "Your lifebonded gave his life for Valdemar. If the rumours are correct, he gave his life for you, the same as your Companion did. Don't you owe it to them to preserve their memory?"
His hands curled into fists.
"If you think about it that way, you don't really have the right to say no."
He could hear voices, people calling his name, he could feel Winter in his mind, but the Companion's anger was near match to his own as he turned on the Bard.
The world vanished in a red wash.
He came back with a quiet voice in his ear, arms he couldn't—wouldn't—fight holding him tight. "Come on, Steve. I know you're in there."
Sam was pinning him against his chest. He could feel Sam's heart beating against his back. Bard Trayvis was nowhere to be seen. There were people staring but they were being glared away by another Bard, a slight, redheaded woman he recognised.
"Are you with me?" Sam asked.
Steve sagged in his arms. "Did I hurt him?"
"No. Not even close. Just scared the shit out of him and broke his lute strings."
"Which he deserved," the redheaded Bard added. "I don't know exactly what happened, but I know Trayvis, which means whatever happened, he deserved it. He probably deserved worse."
"Listen to Natasha, she knows what she's talking about."
Natasha caught Steve's gaze. There was sympathy in her eyes, but it was honest, direct. No pity or cloying sickliness. "If the Bards give you trouble, if they bother you, let me know. I'll make sure it stops."
"She means it," Sam said.
After a moment, Steve nodded, even if he wasn't sure why. Why he agreed or why she said she'd help. She nodded back, firmly, gave the last straggling gawkers a wicked glare and they hurried away, and walked off towards the Palace.
Sam grasped his shoulders and turned him around, holding him at arm's length and studying him. "I'm sorry I wasn't here. I was in Rethwellan and I couldn’t leave. If I could have been here sooner, I would've been."
"I know, Sam. I know."
"Come on, let's get out of here." He didn't let go, drew Steve close, an arm around his shoulder. "Where? Your rooms? Where were you heading?"
"No, I'm uh. I've been sleeping in the stables. With Winter. That's where I was going."
He waited but Sam didn't react except to change direction, heading for Companion's Field. "Then that's where we'll go."
Sam's arm was a heavy weight around his shoulders, he was a solid shape next to him, and when they reached the fence, Winter wasn't alone. Riley was next to him.
Sam let him go and hopped the fence, turning to watch Steve expectantly. He followed more slowly, climbing up each rung, dropping own heavily on the other side.
"I wonder if anyone ever uses the gates," Sam said, looking down the length of the fence.
"What?"
"The gates. There's gates, there and there and there," he pointed them out, "but I'm damned if I've ever seen anyone use them."
"I guess everyone just climbs the fence."
"I guess they do. Come on, show me where you've been sleeping."
It was a cot in one of the foaling stalls, enough room for him and Winter, a blanket on the cot, his travel packs stacked in the corner. Sam didn't say anything, just nodded. "This is nice."
"No it's not. But it's what I need."
"I'm not going to argue with you." Sam squeezed his shoulder. "I brought you something. Do you want it?"
"Sure."
"Alright, make yourself comfortable."
Steve sat on the edge of the cot, staring at his hands.
Sam returned with a bottle in one hand and two tin travelling mugs in the other.
It made Steve smile, just a little. "Are you going to get me drunk?"
"Nope. I'm going to tell you amusing Rethwellan stories. If you have a drink or two, that's up to you."
Steve just blinked at him.
Sam sighed and dropped down to sit next to the cot, setting the bottle and the mugs on the floor. "Drinking isn't a good way to deal with anything, but I think right now, it can't hurt. You're so brittle I'm afraid you're about to break. This might let you bend a little, even if it's only for a little while." He worked the cork loose, poured a trickle into one of the mugs he was carrying, and offered it to Steve. "Here. See what you think."
He sipped it. It was delicious, sweet and cold and warm all at the same time.
"Ice wine," Sam said. "They make it by freezing the wine, throwing away the ice, and bottling what's left."
"It's good."
"Know what else is good?"
He shook his head.
"My stories. There's some weird ideas about us floating around the Rethwellan back country."
"What were you doing in Rethwellan?"
"Negotiating new trade tariffs for livestock and arranging for mandatory inspection at the border. There was an outbreak of fuzzy lamb last year, and no one wants it to happen again."
"Fuzzy lamb sounds cute."
Sam made a disgusted face and took a long drink. "Trust me, it's not. Whoever named it was aiming for the maximum amount of irony." He paused thoughtfully. "But it's better than cheesy gland."
"I'm not going to ask."
"Don't, trust me."
Steve drank his wine, feeling the warmth settle inside him, and nudged Sam's foot. "Tell me your stories."
"Since you asked so nicely." Sam smiled up at him, and there was sympathy in his eyes, concern, kindness, everything Steve hated seeing, but it was Sam. Sam was different. Sam knew him, Sam had known them. Sam had helped make them who they were.
He blinked hard and looked away, but it resonated with the flicker of light inside him. His eyes fell on Winter; Riley's neck was curved protectively over him, both Companions standing close.
Sam patted his ankle, like he could sense what Steve was feeling. "There was the usual. Companions are just horses and Heralds are their trainers."
"We hear that one in Valdemar sometimes."
"Mostly from people breaking the law," Sam pointed out.
"True."
"Companions can shift their shapes and turn into Heralds, I thought that one was pretty good. Imagine if you had hands," Sam said to Riley, who laid his ears back. "Hooves are not superior," Sam told him, paused. "Yes, alright, if you want to crush something they are, but let's see you try and open a door."
Riley snorted disdainfully and Sam laughed. Steve watched them and his heart hurt, the empty space inside him ached, but Winter swung his head around, ears curving forward, and the beads braided into his mane caught the light.
"But the very best one I heard was that Heralds aren't Chosen. We're born. From Companions." At Steve's blank look, he clarified, "Companions are our mothers."
Steve choked on his wine. "What?"
"I did not ask for details on how they thought that happened."
Laughter burbled up inside Steve. Winter and Riley's matched looks of horror made it worse. He clutched his stomach, folding in half, and gave into it, shoulders shaking, had almost stopped when Sam's, "Filthy minds, the lot of them," set him off again.
It eventually trailed off, leaving the swish of the Companion's tails the only sound. The path the wine had carved felt numb. Steve swallowed hard, staring down into his empty mug. "Sam?"
"Mmm?"
"They're gone. Bucky, Shield, they're gone. What are we going to do?"
"Oh, Steve." Sam sounded old beyond his years. He came and sat next to Steve on the cot, wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. "I don't have any words of wisdom for you. Right now, you're a damn miracle." Steve laughed wetly, and Sam squeezed him tighter. "All you can do is keep going. Every day. Keep going."
Winter pressed into the stall, lowering his head to nuzzle Steve's hands, and Steve cupped his nose. Sam gently freed himself from Steve and stood.
"Here, lay down." He pushed Steve's shoulder, and Steve stretched out, keeping one hand on Winter. "Both of you. Get some sleep. We'll keep watch, me and Riley."
Steve wanted to say they didn't have to; he and Winter didn't need anyone to keep watch, but when he finally drifted off, one hand wrapped in Winter's mane, Sam and Riley's shadows outside the stall door were a welcome presence.
* * *
Sam offered to ask the Circle to assign him to Haven, but Steve had said no. He didn't need Sam to stay in Haven with him. Steve needed to get out of Haven. That's why he was here in the Palace, knocking on the King's Own's office door. "Herald Margaret?"
Winter had told Rolan he'd be coming, and Rolan would have told her, so he knew she shouldn't be surprised to see him. She confirmed it when she looked up and said, "Herald Steven. I've been expecting you. Come in."
She gestured to a seat on the other side of her desk.
"I'll try not to take up too much time," he said as he sat down.
"Take as much as you need."
"What I need is for you to send us out. I don't care on what. Anything. But I need to you to give us something to do." Frustration leaked into his voice even as he tried to keep it out. It was all he could do to stop it becoming desperation.
"I heard about the incident the other day."
Steve curled his fingers, digging them into his thighs.
"And I made some inquiries. I'm sorry. If I'd realised it was happening I would have had a word with the head of Bardic, told her get her people under control."
"I don't think that's going to be a problem anymore."
"No, I have the same understanding." She smiled, a tiny, secret thing he didn't care enough to try and understand. "Bard Natasha is rather something."
He waited, heart like stone, and her smile faded.
"Never mind." She let out a breath and seemed to change, leaving Steve with the feeling he was looking more at Margaret and less at the King's Own. "Steven. I believe I can see how leaving Haven could be better for you, but..." She paused for a moment. "May I be honest with you?"
He nodded.
"But I don't want to send you to your death."
Steve bowed his head. In a way, it was a relief that she was so direct. It let him say, "Isn't that what a Herald risks every time they ride out?"
Her snap of a glare was like a cool breeze.
"Sorry." He leaned back, stared at her ceiling. There were permanent shadows above the lanterns, dark spots from the heat and the tiny amount of smoke even the clean burning oil left. "We won't," he said simply. "We made our choice. Didn't the Mindhealers tell you this? Didn't they clear us?"
"We. You mean you and Winter."
"Yes. We chose together."
"I see."
He met her eyes, held them, and bit out, "You don't. You can't. I pray to every god you never do." When he spoke again his tone was once more even and his gaze once more on the ceiling. "Bucky and Shield died saving us. They believed in us. They believed we could keep…going. So we will." And even as they'd fallen, they'd sent that burst of love, that light that flickered inside the emptiness. It wasn't a heart, but it wasn't nothing.
Silence stretched. He didn't look at her, kept studying those permanent shadows.
"Alright." She pursed her lips, sorted through some papers on her desk. "The Herald who's been doing the northern courier route has just been reassigned to one of the Temples. How do you feel about riding courier?"
"Courier would be fine. Anything would be fine."
"Very well. I'll arrange it. See the Quartermaster… Give me until tomorrow afternoon to get everything organised. You can be on your way the following day."
Relief coursed through him, making him lightheaded. "Thank you," he breathed.
"You're most welcome. Now, if there's nothing else, I have a Council meeting to prepare for."
When he took his leave, her smile was kind.
It didn't grate.
* * *
There was something simple about riding courier. Start at the beginning—which for the route that ran up the North Trade Road towards the Forest of Sorrows was the Guard Post near the town of Waymeet—pick up anything that had to go somewhere else fast, take it to the somewhere else and repeat forever. Winter spoke with other Companions on the way, checking if Heralds—on Circuit or in the area for other reasons—had need of a courier. If so, they'd divert to meet them.
That wasn't simple, not if they knew who Steve was. Eventually he stopped introducing himself. Just collected whatever they had and moved on. When they didn't know who he was, didn't know his story—dead Companion, dead lifebonded, sad or terrifying or a mixture of both—they treated him like any another Herald, albeit a rude one. He was sure their Companions knew—they gave him sympathetic looks, which were different coming from a Companion—but they kept his secret.
It was a life of constant motion, moving from Guard Post to town to village to Waystation to inn to noble estate to Temple to House of Healing to Guard Post. Always moving, always running, Winter stretching out beneath him, the world sliding past. He never had to touch it and it couldn’t touch him.
It couldn’t touch either of them.
All they had to do was keep running.
* * *
Steve wasn't sure what they were delivering to the mayor of Riverford, a smallish town that had taken some traipsing through rough country to get to. But then he rarely knew what they were delivering. It didn't matter. All that mattered was how fast they could get it there. How long they got to run.
Winter stopped at the edge of the river and Steve stared at the long stretch of space where it broadened and gentled, making a safe place to cross. The town was just visible from their vantage point on the bank.
"I wonder how the town got its name," Steve said, staring at the shallow stretch of river.
:I'm certain I can't imagine,: Winter replied, bowing his head low to snort at the damp rocks.
Steve smiled up at the sky. "Take the bridge or ford the river?"
Winter swung his head around, beads flashing in the sunlight, and glared at Steve.
"Bridge then."
:Unless you want to walk, yes.:
The wood of the bridge echoed under Winter's hooves as he trotted over it, becoming a dull thump as he turned onto the dirt road that led to the town. They had it to themselves, and Winter shifted into the ground-eating lope that had carried them over so many miles, Steve automatically moving with him, the two of them practically one creature.
It was the only reason he didn't get dumped off when Winter threw up his head, half-rearing as he spun on his back legs.
"Winter?"
:Help. A Companion calling for help.:
"Go."
Winter burst into a gallop, leaping off the road and dashing into the forest, spinning through the trees, darting through gaps that they barely fit into, and Steve grunted as his leg scraped against a tree.
It didn't matter. As Winter ran, he checked his weapons, loosening his sword in its scabbard, strung his bow and flipped the cover off his quiver.
He was much better than he'd been, a life time ago at the Collegium. He'd never be as good as Bucky, but he was better.
:Anything?:
:Pain. Fear.: He threw a picture into Steve's head, something he'd never done before, and Steve clutched at the saddle as a scaly black greyhound-shaped snake-dog-lizard thing snarled at him from inside his own mind.
:What in the name of Kernos' balls is that?:
:Dangerous.:
Winter slowed, favouring stealth over speed, and they slipped into a clearing scattered with tree stumps, piles of cut logs, and three of the snake-dogs.
Bigger than any dog he'd ever seen and uglier than week old shit, their yellow eyes glowed as they snapped and bit at a Companion. Her Herald, and he knew her, it was Sharon, was slashing at them with her sword, her Companion was lashing out with hooves and teeth, but they couldn’t fight properly, couldn't move away from the two bleeding people they were protecting. Down and injured, Steve knew they'd be dead in seconds if the snake-dogs got to them.
No arrows; Steve wasn't good enough to make them anything more than a warning to things that moved like that.
He let himself sink into Winter's mind, felt Winter doing the same and they charged across the clearing and spun, rear hooves smashing into snake-dog one and sending it flying. It crashed into a tree with a yelp and snake-dog two and three turned to face them, snarling.
Steve smiled, baring his teeth, and snarled back. Winter snaked his head forward, teeth slashing and lunged as Steve drew his sword. The snake-dogs slashed at Winter's forelegs, but Winter danced back. Steve tried to cut at them, but with the way they wove, even his reach was too short.
:Don't let them die.: He threw himself off Winter's back, rolled, came up behind snake-dogs two and three, cut at their rear legs, but they were too fast for him to sever tendons and he only nicked three's tail.
But they were on him, their attention was focussed on him. "Get them out," he yelled at Sharon. "Up on the Companions and get them out."
Snake-dogs two and three lunged at him and he met them with his sword, but it was like fighting a greased whirlwind. Snap and lunge and swirl and spin, and their scales were so tough only stabbing seemed to do any damage.
But it wasn't about damage. It was about keeping their attention on him. It was about making sure everyone got out of this safely. It didn't matter what happened to him as long as they were safe.
This couldn’t last. They were too fast, too vicious, and he was slowing, bleeding from a dozen cuts, but he led them across the clearing, feinting and stabbing, and grinned, baring his teeth, when he slammed his sword through snake-dog two's foot, pinning it to the ground.
Snake-dog three lunged for him and he made a fist with his dagger inside it and thrust it into its mouth, twisting to lodge the dagger straight up, blade sinking into its tongue, forcing its jaws open, and it shook its head, pawing at its face as it backed away.
He dropped just in time for snake-dog two's jaws to miss snapping shut on his neck, scrambling back across the grass as it pounced on him and then Winter was there, teeth sinking into its spine, and he heaved, rearing to his full height as the snake-dog twisted and clawed at him, and threw it across the clearing. Steve rolled to his feet, panting, and pulled his sword out of the ground.
Winter whispered into his mind, :They're gone. Triska's got them,: and relief rushed through him. Relief quickly tempered by a snarl announcing the return of snake-dog one. It was answered by Winter's bugling challenge …and Sharon's cry of anger. Which meant Sharon was still here.
Stabbing worked. Maybe crushing would, too. Steve spun his blade, holding it across his body, reached for his Gift, and Fetched the pile of cut logs directly over snake-dog two. It smashed down onto it, pinning it to the ground as it twitched feebly, clearly broken and bleeding inside.
His satisfaction was interrupted by Winter. :Behind you! Turn!:
Steve obeyed instantly, sword raised, as a fourth snarl cut through the air, and the new snake-dog skewered itself. He shoved harder, driving it deep, and it scratched frantically at his arms, his chest, snapped at his face, but he leaned back, holding it at arm's length.
Eventually it stopped kicking and he dragged his sword out, panting heavily, blood dripping down his arms.
Snake-dog three was dead, his jaw still pried open. Winter's hooves were bloody, but the long, deep gouges on his belly were equally as bloody. He paced over to Steve, and Steve leaned on him as he turned to face Sharon. "When I told you to get them out, I meant you, too."
"You do know you're not in charge of me," she said. She was limping, her leg was bleeding, blood staining her Whites along the back of her left calf, but the blade in her hand was as bloody as they were, and snake-dog one was missing a back leg and part of its head.
He exchanged a glance with Winter. "That's true."
"You need a Healer," she said. "You both do." Her eyes went vague, then snapped back into focus. "Triska is on her way back. They've already sent for the Healer." She narrowed her eyes at Winter. "Triska can carry both of us. I don't like the look of those injuries."
"Once the Healer's finished dealing with the two you were protecting when we got here. And once you get your leg checked out and Triska's been taken care of. Then sure, the Healer can look at us."
Her gaze sharpened. "Steve."
"Sharon."
"What you did, jumping off Winter. Facing them yourself, pulling them all onto you, expecting me to go and leave you here…that was reckless."
"Sharon?" He forced his voice to gentle, because he knew it was concern talking, concern and being a Herald, and he didn't want to hurt her. "You're not in charge of us, either." It was gentle, yes, but it was firm. Clear. No room for discussion.
She was wrong, anyway. He hadn't been reckless, and neither had Winter. Reckless was a word for people who didn't think. Who didn't realise what they were risking.
Neither of them were reckless.
They'd made their choice, and they wouldn't chase it, but the only thing death held for them was peace; neither of them was running too hard the other way.
"I see," she said carefully, looking between him and Winter. "You know I have to put everything in my report."
"Good." He turned away to dig in Winter's saddlebags for something to wrap her leg until she got to the Healer. "Then it's your problem to figure out what these things are called. I don't think the Circle's going to be too impressed with 'snake-dog'."
|
I follow behind Nino and Alya as we enter the VIP area. I hear the door close as soon as I go through and realize that Adrien hasn’t entered with us. I make a physical effort not to look back to see what he is doing. Instead I focus on putting one foot in front of another as my head swims.
What was Adrien doing?
Nino leads us over to one of the white sofas close to the overlook and flops down. He bounces a few times before patting the seat next to him and wagging his eyebrows at Alya. She slides in close to him and I sit on the opposite sofa, my back to the door. I try to make an effort to think of anything but the boy on the other side of that door when I see Alya’s flirty smile die on her face. Oh man I wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that glare. I follow her gaze over my shoulder. There stands Adrien, still in the hall, face illuminated by his phone screen, with a big goofy smile. He looks happy. Happier than he’s looked all night. Happier than he’d been with me. It must be someone special. It must be Kagami.
My chest hurts.
But he’s been so…
My eyes sting.
He hasn’t been flirting but he’s been…
My stomach rolls.
But…he actually noticed me tonight.
“Let go of me Nino!” I jerk back in time to see Nino pull Alya back down on the sofa. “He’s spent all night practically dry humping Mari and now he’s out there sending sap to his girlfriend! I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. And maybe a kick in the ASS!”
“Please Alya! Please.”
Nino drops his voice as he wraps Alya in a hug and rubs soothing circles along her spine. He mummers in her ear but it’s too soft to hear what he is saying. Whatever it is, it works. Her lips purse into a thin line and her eyes could burn a hole straight through Adrien but she stops fighting. Nino releases her from his containing hug and she turns those piercing eyes on him. Her expression is dangerous. They speak in hushed tones and I realize I’m intruding on a private conversation. Before I even make the decision, my feet are moving toward the bar.
“What can I get you, Miss?”
A young blond woman in a tight but professional white button down shirt smiles politely. I hesitate. My eyes are drawn back to the VIP entrance just as Adrien pulls it open. His eyes catch mine and hold. He wears a blinding smile. His steps are long and confident with a swagger I’ve only seen on the runway. Everything about him screams pleased. Like the cat who caught the canary. My misery tightens into a ball.
He’s just a friend. Just a friend. Just be his friend. You can be his friend. Just his friend.
“I want to try something new.” I definitely need something new. “Why don’t you surprise me with something sweet?”
“I have just the thing.”
Her eyes glitter past me as she starts pouring from different bottles into an ice filled shaker. I can’t help my eye roll when I realize she is watching Adrien approach us. She arches her back slightly as she begins shaking the drink and it puts on quite the show. I have to turn away and cover my mouth to keep from laughing. I end up turning toward Adrien just in time to catch his expression. His eyes are trained on the bartender but his brows are pinched and his mouth is pulled in a tight, awkward smile. He seems entranced but uncomfortable at the same time. I can’t help the giggle that bubbles past my fingers. His gaze drifts toward mine and his whole face brightens. That goofy smile is back but this time it’s focused completely on me. I hate myself a little for the way my heart beats faster.
Be cool Marinette. Be his friend.
As he gets close he turns his back to the bar, executing that perfect model lean. My eyes roll away with a dry chuckle.
“And what are you laughing at?”
“You,” I look at him over my shoulder, “you and your posing.” I lean in close and start poking interesting spots. “Is there an off button?”
An airy laugh is forced out of him as he dodges and tries to deflect my jabs.
“Stop! Stop Mari…” giggle giggle “Stop! I give up! I give…”
THUNK!
A champagne glass smacks down under my nose.
I jump and look back to the bartender whose expression is no longer polite. A quick glance shows me that she has been busy while we were distracted. Cleavage greets me as several buttons have mysteriously popped open on her blouse.
“Kir Royale for you Mademoiselle.”
She only holds my gaze for a pointed second before turning a sexy smile to the back of Adrien’s head.
“Is there anything I can do for you, sir.”
Geez, I giggle again at her obviousness and at Adrien’s large, lost eyes as he looks over his shoulder at her. Hmmm…I could save him or make it worse. He turns back to me and whatever he sees makes his golden skin pale. Oh this could be so much fun, a little payback for his flirting tonight. Two could play this game. Wide green eyes follow my fingers as I reach over and barely brush along Adrien’s bare arm, feeling goose bumps race with my touch.
“Yeah, Adrien.” I purr. “What is it that you need?”
I hold his startled gaze as I use my other hand to lift the cocktail to my lips. It’s sweet and fruity and burns as I swallow. I’ll give it to blondie; she knows how to make a drink. The alcohol loosens the knot in my constraint and I decide to make things interesting and take it up a notch. I smoothly trace the edge of the glass with the tip of my tongue to catch a drip. His eyes turn into saucers and follow my tongue’s path across the glass then along my lips.
“See anything you might like?” I turn slightly and press into Adrien’s side. Soft curves molding against hard muscle. His eyes stay locked on mine but his face is blank. His face remains blank as he drifts away from me. I realize he is sliding off the bar. “Adrien!?”
With a heavy swallow he catches himself before he slips off. Standing up straight he watches me for a second. He looks at me like he’s never seen me before. He looks shaken. His eyes search mine but for what? I remember his smile in the hall and if it was for Kagami then how can he look at me like this. Like I’m an oasis in the desert. Not sure if I’m his salvation or just a mirage.
“Mari…”
I shiver at the intimacy of his voice. His body drifts closer to mine dwarfing my small frame. So close. So wide. I feel vulnerable. I feel stripped. Cologne wafts around me wiping away what I was trying to accomplish. How’d I get myself into this situation yet again? I take a small step back to clear my head. Big mistake. Spring green eyes bore into mine and his smile takes on a predatory edge. My body freezes. Uncertainty rages through me. Flight or fight mode kicks in. As Marinette I may not have Ladybugs confidence and candor but I have always held my own. I have never felt like prey before. That smile holds my attention. It makes my skin crawl with something I can’t name. I hear something. Laughter. Faint at first but it grows. It drowns out everything. It overtakes me like a wave and pulls me into darkness. I’m gone before my body hits the ground, the echo of laughter chasing after me.
_______________
I don’t know what just happened. One minute I was trying to get a hold of myself after Marinette actually flirted with me and the next her eyes rolled back and her body dropped. The only thing that saved her from hitting her head was my Chat reflexes. Gathering her limp body in my arms I take her over to the sofa across from Nino and Alya. I hear something from the bartender but it can’t penetrate the whirling of my thoughts.
She has to be okay.
I check the pulse at her throat. It’s strong but fast almost like she’s been running.
Please be okay.
I lean close to her mouth to listen if she’s breathing. I feel the tickle of air as it pants along my cheek.
Please…I just can’t...Please.
Her eyes shift as if in sleep. I lift a fluttering lid but see only white.
I’m so focused on checking vitals that I don’t hear Alya until she pulls me off of Marinette.
“IS. SHE. OKAY?!”
"Oh! oh - oh uh...yeah! Yeah she seems fine."
“What the hell HAPPENED?! One minute she’s at the bar with you,” A firm finger pokes into my chest, “The next minute she’s passed out?!”
I’ve never been on the receiving end of Alya’s wrath. I don’t know how Nino does it. Alya stands under my nose but I’m literally scared for my life. Golden hazel eyes practically crackle with anger as her hands dance around. I try to back up but she follows.
“What did you SAY to her?!”
“No-noth-thing…”
“Then WHY did she pass out?”
“I don’t know. We were…”
“You don’t KNOW?! You were RIGHT THERE!”
“We were just talking. Then she – then she took a drink …”
“Was there something in her drink?!” Alya turns on the bartender who instinctively takes a step back.
“No!” Sparking gold snaps back to my face. “No…we were right there as she made it besides she only took a sip. It was too small of a drink. Too fast. Besides she just…” My eyes look back to Marinette’s prone form. “She just buckled.”
I squeeze around Alya as she processes all of this and kneel by Marinette. Her eyes still move like she’s dreaming. Her fingers twitch randomly. My thumb trails along her forehead. A soothing gesture I remember my mother doing after I had a bad dream.
“Marinette,” I croon. “It’s okay. Shhh, it’s okay.” Her head moves toward the sound of my voice. I can’t hide my relief. “Marinette! Can you hear me?” I see her lips move and I lean in close to hear. Even with my sensitive ears it’s difficult to make out.
“No….” her head turns away. “Please … Chaton.”
I drop her hand as I jerk away.
“NO!” Marinette jumps up. Her eyes dart around as if searching for something. When they land on me she flinches. There’s fear and hurt in her eyes. But it’s gone before I even realize it’s there. “What…?” She looks around again at everyone standing over her and sits all the way up. “What happened?” Her eyes pinch closed and her hand presses to her forehead.
Alya slides gently into the seat next to her. “How are you feeling?” The back of Alya’s hand runs softly across her cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry.” She looks around at everyone again. “So-sorry. I’m …I’m fine really.” She gives the group a wobbly smile.
The bartender and two waiters visibly relax and quickly disappear. I stare longingly to the seat next to Marinette but it’d be too tight with Alya sitting on her other side. Dejected, I join Nino on the opposite sofa. Alya watches me with a raised eyebrow that doesn’t feel all together friendly. When she faces Marinette again she’s all compassion.
“What happened, Mari?”
“I’m not sure.” Delicate hands press into either side of her head. “I was at the bar,” blue eyes find mine, “when I just felt weird.”
“Weird how?”
Even though Marinette was addressing Alya, her eyes stayed locked on mine. Drowning me gently in a sea of blue.
“I was…talking,” pink creeps up her cheeks, “to Adrien.” A smile tugs at my lips but her sharp stare keeps it from materializing. “Then I felt.” Her eyes widen and that hint of fear creeps back in but still she holds my gaze. “I felt…” She shakes her head and her eyes squeeze shut. I suddenly feel my breath rush back in. I hadn’t realized I was holding it until her eyes released me. “I can’t remember.” She drops her face into her hands. “I was just gone,” she mumbles past her fingers, “I was there with Adrien then I was…running. It was dark. A shadow.” She shivers. “A shadow was chasing me. I could hear a voice. A voice in my head. I can’t remember what it was saying.” She looks up from her hands into Alya’s face. Her skin is pale. Her eyes haunted. “But I remember the laughter. So cold. Taunting...” Her voice drifts away.
None of us speak. There’s a tension in the air that none of us knows how to deal with.
“Well…Shit!” Except Nino. “Dude that’s…haha…that’s intense. You want a drink?” He points at a stunned Marinette who only stares at him. “You need a drink.” He looks around at us. “We all need a drink. Be back.”
Without another word he jumps over the back of the sofa and jogs to the bar. We all watch silently as he talks animatedly to the bartender. She nods and looks over at us a few times looking more and more relaxed. She starts pouring shots and laughing with Nino.
“I don’t know how he does that.”
I look over at Alya. She watches Nino with pure adoration. I can’t help but smile at her look. Seeing the love between them makes me warm and hopeful. I turn wistful eyes to Marinette to find her watching me. My smile dims at the strange intensity of her eyes. She glances over at Alya who is still looking at Nino. She studies them for a second when she sees Nino catch Alya staring. A soft moment passes between them and Nino holds his hands together like a heart. Alya blows him a kiss. When Marinette looks back at me she still looks haunted but a sweet smile softens her face. Her shoulders relax and when Nino comes back with a fist full of shots she downs hers with a grimace. Everyone laughs at her face, including herself. Laughter surrounds us and the night feels lighter; I feel lighter than I have in days.
Until it all crashes down.
|
Lexa watches Clarke's shocked face right up until the elevator doors close her out of vision. Once they were closed Lexa lets her little smirk develop into a wide smile. She had thoroughly enjoyed every second of that. She was proud of herself for maintaining control. Once her hand slid into Clarke's panties she thought she was going to lose her composure, she hadn’t expected the blonde to be so wet, she was absolutely dripping. Lexa brings her fingers up to her nose smiling as she smells the girl on herself.‘There’s no turning back now’, Lexa thinks to herself. She’s in this. It’s done. No more worrying about the morals and ethics of it, she’s just gonna go with it and see what happens.She’s just about arrived at the lobby, she quickly looks herself over to make sure she doesn’t look to disheveled.The doors open and she takes a deep breath and exhales as she walks out, Kind of dreading that she’s going to have to spend the next hour mingling with her employees when all she really wants to do is go home and sort herself out, even though she had succeeded in teasing Clarke she had left herself feeling rather hot and bothered at the same time, feeling a little uncomfortable at the wetness she can feel in her panties.Lexa heads straight to the bar and orders her usual, scotch on the rocks and walks over to a group and slides herself into the conversation.After about 15 minutes or so have passed she begins to wonder where Clarke is, she had expected to see her by now. Not a moment later she sees a flash of blonde out of the corner of her eye and turns to see the blonde entering the bar. She watches her walk in, she looks a little uncomfortable but as soon as she walks up to a group of her colleges her face changes and she has her usual big beautiful smile on display. Lexa watches her, she is so good with people. The bar is full of people from the office, they all stand in their little groups, the different departments sticking together. Being Lexa’s assistant, Clarke doesn’t really belong to a group, so she just floats around the room easily dropping in and out of conversations with all the different groups brightening up each one with her presence, Lexa can hear her gorgeous laugh through the crowd and it makes her stomach flutter.Lexa has never been a very social person, where Clarke shines and draws the attention of the room Lexa would much rather find a dark corner and hide until it’s over. She decides to take a little break and finds herself a seat alone at the bar. She’s taking a sip of her scotch when she feels a warm presence behind her, she doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s Clarke.Clarke leans into her back and whispers into her ear ‘You think you’re pretty funny, don’t you?’Lexa smirks into her drink as Clarke moves around so is standing at Lexa’s side looking down at her on the stool, she leans against the bar on her elbow still looking at Lexa awaiting a response.
‘Of all the words my employees use to describe me, I’m pretty sure ‘funny’ isn’t one of them’ she replies, the tiny smirk still hanging on her lips.‘Hmm’ Clarke hums ‘Well I guess they just don’t know you like I do’ Clarke leans in a little closer to Lexa’s ear before continuing ‘you know you’ve really put me in an uncomfortable position here’.Lexa’s smirk disappears instantly, suddenly worried about what Clarke was going to say next, has she misread things? has she taken it too far and made Clarke feel uncomfortable? She’s about to speak but Clarke continues before she can get a word out.
‘I couldn’t put my panties back on because they were so wet, anyone within a couple of meters would have been able to smell the sex on me, I even tried to dry them under the hand dryer in the bathroom but it was no use.. they’re completely ruined’
Lexa feels her thighs clench together as the wetness in her own panties begins to grow. Clarke notices Lexa gulp before continuing ‘so now here I am trying to mingle with my work colleagues wearing a rather short skirt and no panties…. It’s quite uncomfortable.’
Lexa turns her eyes up to meet Clarke's, she maintains eye contact as she takes a slow sip of her drink, breathing in deeply through her nose before she lowers the glass from her mouth.Clarke is looking at her curiously when she finally speaks
‘It’s not exactly easy for me either Clarke, do you know how hard it is to carry out a conversation when every time I have a sip from my drink I can smell you on my fingers’
‘Fuck, Lexa’ Clarke mumbles under breath, leaning in a bit closer to Lexa ‘You can’t do this to me’ Clarke pleads ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here and finish what you started.’
Lexa gets up from her seat and walks away towards the exit without saying a wordClarke watches as Lexa leaves, not sure what’s going on, she decides she should probably follow, she hurries to catch up to the brunette. She follows Lexa out of the building and onto the street, Lexa turns down a little ally that goes down side of the building, Clarke follows her, just as she rounds the corner she feels strong arms grab her and push her against the wall of the building. Lexa has her pinned against the wall and her eyes are as dark as she has ever seen them, she looks like a predator. Lexa moves in so her lips are hovering just over Clarke's, the blonde is breathing heavily and Lexa can feel her warm breath on her own lips. Clarke tries to move forward to bring their lips together but Lexa brings a hand up and grabs the side of the blonde’s neck, her thumb resting on her jaw line and her fingers extending up the side of her face, holding her back.Lexa pushes herself hard up against Clarke's body.Clarke moans at the contact.
‘Lexa’ Clarke whines ‘Come on, why are you fighting this? come back to me place’Their mouths are still only an inch apart.Clarke’s lips are slightly parted as she pouts.Lexa leans in and swipes her tongue along Clarke’s bottom lip before sucking it into her mouth and biting down on it hard.Clarke moans as Lexa slowly releases her lip. The blonde tries to move forward so she can kiss Lexa back but Lexa holds her still and moves her own head back taking her mouth out of reach.
‘that’s not how this is how is going to work Clarke’ Lexa states matter of factly‘You’ve been very bad, you’ve been teasing and manipulating and that’s not how you’re going to get what you want with me’
Lexa pauses, making sure she has Clarke’s full attention for what she is about to say ‘I want you to tell me Clarke, I want you to tell me in very specific detail what you want me to do to you, how and where you want me to touch you, how you want me to fuck you’ Clarke gulps, but doesn’t say a word.‘I want to make you feel good Clarke. I want to fuck you, believe me I do. But you need to know your place. When you can tell me what I want to hear I’ll do exactly as you ask.. but until then I will not lay a hand on you’Lexa releases her grasp on Clarkes neck and takes a step back. Clarke is breathing heavily.‘Do you understand me Clarke?’ Lexa questions.
Clarke is trying to steady her breathing and gain some composure. She nods her head, noticing Lexa doesn’t look convinced, she tries harder and uses her voice ‘Yes Lexa, I understand’ she says begrudgingly.‘Good’ Lexa replies ‘come, we should get back to the bar’.
Clarke follows Lexa back to the bar and they go their separate ways. Clarke doesn’t stay long before deciding to call it an early night getting a cab home.Clarke lays in bed thinking about the day’s events, not sure what her next move would be.She’s never felt intimidated by someone the way she does by Lexa. If anyone else pulled this kind of shit on her she would happily walk away. But for some reason she can’t. Lexa has her intrigued, she feels like she’s a moth and Lexa’s the flame. She feels powerless to resist. But that doesn’t mean she has to roll over and give Lexa whatever she want’s. she has some pride. Clarke can feel a head ache coming on and decides to give her mind a break. She has all weekend to think about it. Instead she chooses to think about how Lexa’s tongue felt on her lips and how perfect her body felt flush up against her own, she lets these thoughts follow her into sleep.
Saturday night rolls around and Clarke has decided it’s time to call In for back up
‘Sorry Griff, I’m really not seeing the problem here’ Raven sighs, feeling a little confused.‘A hot girl wants to fuck you, you want to fuck her, she just wants you to talk a little dirty to her first… what’s the big? It’s not like you’re shy about this kind of stuff. You’re always texting girls telling them about all the filthy stuff your gonna do to them!’
‘Yes exactly” Clarke exclaims ‘What I’m going to do to them!. Lexa is trying to make me one of those girls. She’s trying to make me the bottom! Clarke Griffin is a top!’
Raven is sitting on Clarke's couch laughing at her friend as she tries to explain her situation.‘Raven!’ Clarke shouts angrily ‘I asked you over here to help me not laugh at me!’
I’m sorry Griff’ Raven tries ‘it’s just you and this top/bottom shit. I just don’t get it!
Clarke tries to explain ‘It’s important to establish a dynamic at the beginning of any relationship, to know what each of you bring to the table and what to expect from each other.’
‘But it’s not like your trying to start a relationship with Lexa, you just wanna fuck her right?’ Raven questions
‘In relationships of a purely sexual nature, establishing this dynamic is especially important’ Clarke informs her friend ‘I’m not saying I have to be 100% a top, I’ve been with plenty of girls and guys where the role of dominator has been transferable, and I can deal with that. But Lexa has made it very clear that she will be the dominator here, full stop. She told me I need to learn my place for god’s sake!, if I just roll over and give her what she wants, I’m going to feel like a total pussy!’
‘But if you don’t do It, you won’t be getting any pussy’ Raven quips‘look, maybe it’s just not meant to be then, maybe two tops don’t make a right’ Raven chuckles to herself.
Clarke takes a seat next to her friend ‘Maybe’ Clarke sighs‘but I don’t know, this whole dominant thing with Lexa, it just doesn’t feel right, sometimes I look in her eyes and they’re so soft, I think she’s putting up a front, I think in a way her whole personality, the whole commander thing, sometimes I think it’s all just a front. I want to dig deeper. I want to get to know her better’
Clarke looks over at Raven who is looking back at her with a slightly shocked expression on her face.‘What’ Clarke questions‘I don’t know Griff, if I didn’t know better I’d say you’ve got a bit of a crush on this girl. Don’t tell me Clarke ‘don’t tie me down’ Griffin has finally caught feelings?’
‘Uggh! God raven your insufferable! It’s not like that. I’m just curious is all, and god, raven, you have no idea. She’s not just ‘some hot girl’ she’s’.....Clarke pauses trying to find the right words ‘she’s insanely beautiful! Like I’m talking the kind of beautiful you didn’t know existed until you see it with your own eyes. The kind of beautiful that should be illegal because of the damage it could do!’
Clarke looks at her friend who is just smirking back at her‘What!’Clarke asks again, getting frustrated with the brunette.
‘You’ve definitely caught feelings! You’re gonna be talking dirty to her before your lunch break on Monday’ raven states with a giggle.
‘Oh, fuck you Raven’ Clarke grumbles, feeling a bit defeated.She wishes she could deny it, but there’s a big part of her that thinks Raven might be right.
|
Lance is suffering and he is suffering greatly. He cannot get Keith’s voice out of his head. Not that he’s complaining exactly because while this disembodied voice telling him he’s a good boy is a small addition to his spank bank, it packs a punch. A punch to his dick.
His eyes close tightly as his hand moves furiously between his legs. Small pants and the occasional whine slip between his lips as he imagines being on his knees, a broad guy with dark hair and a grade A ass gripping his hair tightly while a cock lies heavy on his tongue. “Good boy, Lance,” made up Keith purrs appreciatively. Lance’s breath hitches as he spills over his hand and releases a deep moan. His eyes flutter open as he slowly comes down from his high. This is bad…
But would it be so terrible to call Keith? Make a call to him for real? It’s not like he’s getting any. His last girlfriend dumped him almost a year ago and the occasional hook up here and there have been growing sparser. Maybe he could call him. If not for the phone sex at least for the entertainment. His first prank call hadn’t gone as he had hoped and if he’s being honest, it hurts his pride. And what’s a little bit of cash when it comes to his pride?
Lance wipes his hand off on his sweatpants with only the smallest amount of disgust before he reaches for his phone. It’s Sunday. Would Keith even be working now? On the Sabbath? That seems kinda fucked up. When did he call in the first place? He opens his call log and scrolls past the dozen or so calls from his mom, his siblings, Pidge, and Hunk until he reaches the unsaved number.
Thursday night, huh? Well, usually that day of the week is reserved for movie nights with Pidge and Hunk but maaaaybe an exception can be made. For Keith. To bug Keith. And hear that voice again.
Stupid Keith.
_________________________
Alright, he’d called around 9 and it is…6:17 on Thursday night. Well, Pidge and Hunk should be home from running errands soon so if he’s lucky he can retreat to his room without suspicion before 9 under the pretense of needing to sleep. Or study. Nah, definitely sleep. They’ll never believe him if he says he needs to study.
_________________________
Lance’s stomach is in knots. Maybe it’s the anticipation of getting to hear that voice again or maybe it’s the way he keeps catching Pidge staring at him with that face LIKE SHE KNOWS WHAT LANCE IS GOING TO DO LATER TONIGHT. He checks the time on his phone for what must be the 400th time in the past 2 hours. 8:39. He sighs and wonders how much of this movie is left. It’s some romantic comedy Hunk picked out (that lovable loser) and he is over it. The gods must be on his side because the credits roll in the next couple of minutes after the main couple, predictably, gets together and starts making out.
Lance can barely contain his excitement. And nerves. “WELP, it’s been a great night among friends but I really need to hit the sack. Get that beauty rest, y’know. Gotta keep this face looking flawless!” He pops the DVD out and hurriedly jams it into the case before shoving it into Hunk’s hands ignoring the confused look on his face. Pidge is watching him with a small grin and a look of knowing.
“Got plans tonight, do we?” Pidge questions with a hint of teasing in her voice. Hunk glances at her with curiosity. As brilliant as he is, Hunk is just slightly slower with the social cues than Pidge.
God damn it, Pidge why must you know everything?! “What? No, I’m going to bed. Duh, didn’t you just hear me?”
“You’ve been awfully concerned about the time tonight. Expecting a visitor? A call perhaps?” She slowly steps closer, eyebrows raised in question, her smile growing. Hunk rolls his eyes and groans in realization.
“Oh, Lance, buddy no. We all remember how well that went last time.”
“He might not even answer now. You didn’t call Keith until 10:00, y’know,” Pidge continues nonchalantly while studying her nails.
“9:00. Wait, no. Fuck.” Lance, you imbecile! Pidge is a freak of nature with the best memory you’ve ever seen!
“AHA! YOU ARE GOING TO CALL HIM AGAIN! I KNEW IT YOU GIANT PERVERT!” the younger girl yells loudly. Her smile is wide and she can’t hold back her laughter. Oh man, does she love to see Lance suffer.
Hunk lets out a deep exhale and puts his hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Lance, my dude, my pal, I highly recommend not calling Keith again. Don’t annoy the poor guy anymore than you already have.”
His buddy, his pal scoffs. “Annoy him?! How about him annoying me?” Lance exclaims waving his arms to demonstrate his exasperation. “I must defeat him.”
Hunk raises an eyebrow. “What, why?”
“I gotta,” Lance answers with shrug. “Besides, he started this rivalry.”
“What rivalry? You prank called him!”
“It’s because Keith made him realize he’s a turd that pays to play jokes on innocent people,” Pidge clarifies helpfully.
“INNOCENT? You call a man who wants to listen to me to choke on his dick, innocent?! “
Hunk opens his mouth to say something but stops himself as he feels his cheeks begin to bloom pink.
Lance smirks. “Can’t defend that one, can you?”
“You’re the one about to call to ask for more.” Pidge laughs at Lance who suddenly looks like he’s in the midst of a stroke. He recovers quickly enough although his face is slowly turning red.
“Yeah, well, maybe I wanna hear what else he has to say. So what?” he mumbles out.
“Aw Lance, you’ve been thinking about him all week, haven’t you?” Hunk seems to have gone a little softer to the situation now that he sees there’s a possible thing developing. Lance hasn’t been bothered to show much interest in anyone lately and Hunk can’t say he hasn’t been a little sad for him. He’s so much more…Lance-y with an object of affection. Even if the object of affection is a phone sex worker. He frowns slightly to himself.
“Have not,” Lance huffs.
Pidge begs to differ. “You turned bright red when the neighbor was telling his dog what a good boy he was during a game of fetch. His dog, Lance. You blushed at praise over a dog. Are you a furry too?”
Hunk makes a face. “Ew, Pidge, please.”
“Fuck you, guys. I’m going to my room. TO SLEEP. AND NOT CALL KEITH. YEAH.” He stomps away awkwardly, arms raised to his sides to give them each the finger.
“Yiff yiff, motherfucker!” Pidge calls after him.
_________________________
After he hears his roommates go their own ways, Lance hovers his finger hesitantly over the unsaved number. It’s just Keith, Lance. Yeah, he’s got a hot voice but he’s probably a creepy sex goblin hence why he works behind a phone and I will not be…out-turned on by a creepy sex goblin.
He taps the call button and listens to the phone ring. The operator picks up and he requests to speak to Keith. Thankfully, he is transferred without a problem and the phone starts ringing again. His heart is pounding in his chest and he realizes he has no idea what the fuck he’s going to say to Keith when he does answer. A cheesy pickup line? Do I turn the tables and seduce him? Damn it Lance, what’s sexy?!
“Requested me specifically, hm? I must have left quite an impression,” Keith greets with an easy flirtatiousness, a smile obvious in his voice.
Oh no, that voice has returned and is doing things to him. Do people usually get hard over a voice? Lance is floundering yet again. Quick, Lance, do an accent! Say something clever!
“Oooh, oui oui mon amor.” Shit, what other French do I know? Why did I go French in the first place? French is sexy, right? “ Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir? Ah, mon cherie, how ze stars shine een your eyes honhonhon,” he forces out fumbling for anything romantic to say. What the fuck, Lance? What the actual fuck?
There’s a familiar pause before he can continue but then he hears something he wasn’t expecting. Keith laughs. The sound makes Lance’s eyes widen and pulls on his heartstrings or some shit. It doesn’t last long.
The laughter peters out and Keith’s voice is in his ear again. “Is this that Lance asshole from last week?” he inquires with a chuckle. Forget that whole heartstrings thing.
“HEY. Who are you calling an asshole, dickhead?”
“Oh, Lance” (Lance still likes the way Keith says his name) “What the hell were you trying to accomplish by speaking in…whatever that was supposed to be?”
“It was French, you uncultured swine,” Lance defends. He can feel embarrassment creeping up his spine and warming his cheeks. “I’m beating you at your own game.”
“And what game is that?” Keith questions with amusement evident in his voice.
“Seduction.”
Keith bursts out laughing again. Lance’s cheeks grow hotter. Cute. He sounds cute.
“Shut up, Keith! I’m coming for your job, dude.”
“Whatever you say, Lance. Can’t wait to see what you come up with next time.” Click.
Next time. He said next time. Lance can’t keep the grin from spreading on his face.
Nailed it.
____________________________
Keith’s cheeks hurt from smiling. He’s such an idiot. Lance, huh. Cute.
|
Xander woke up on the couch, the blanket all tangled above him. Not really providing warmth, but he didn't really need it to. Protection, maybe, from the dreams he didn't want to have, something to wad up in his hands and hang onto while he slept. The pillow was soft, almost too soft, but he didn't want to complain. Didn't want to hear the 'if you don't find it comfortable, there is always the other option.'
He didn't expect to hear it, not really. But he did expect to hear it, as well. Three weeks, surely he'd have worn out his welcome by now.
He'd only stayed over on seven occasions, nights when he knew going home would be bad, or when he just couldn't bring himself to leave Giles' warm, welcoming apartment and go home to... home. This was the first time he'd stayed two nights in a row. His stomach clenched briefly as he got up, and looked towards the kitchen.
Giles was already up, busy making breakfast. Xander knew that there would be enough for two and that he would be expected to eat. Not that Giles ever ordered him to, he'd just give him that mild questioning look and Xander's conscience and stomach would do the rest.
Not that he would ever want to turn down food. But he did still feel guilty about subjecting the bachelor to the hunger pangs of a teenage boy. He always tried to eat only one plate of whatever he was offered, and say nothing when it left him still hungry.
Xander left the blanket draped over the back of the couch and headed for the bathroom. He'd forgotten to bring clothes with him, hadn't in fact been home since the day before yesterday. He'd have to go by this morning, then, and get something. He'd have to go by early as possible. Maybe he'd better skip breakfast...
"Good morning," Giles called out, catching sight of him. "I was just going to wake you. Food's almost ready. You'll have time to wash up."
"Great, thanks," he replied before shutting the bathroom door. It smelled wonderful, smelled like waffles or pancakes. Sausage, too, and those biscuits Giles always turned into something other than 'break 'em out of a can' biscuits. He hated to miss it. But around 7 o'clock his dad would stumble out of bed, and if Xander wanted to be there and gone...
He headed back to the kitchen, words swallowed into his throat as he saw the sheer amount of food Giles had prepared. He could always wear his gym clothes.
Giles sat at the table across from him. "Sleep well?" These mornings always started out with neutral conversation.
"Yeah." Xander gave one last thought to leaving, then discarded it as he smelled the biscuit Giles was now buttering. His mouth began to water as he reached for his own plate and piled it high.
He never volunteered much during these conversations, but Giles always seemed able to make him say things he never intended to admit. He wondered, though, if they would get around to The Talk again today.
They've had some form of it every morning he'd stayed over. Giles was never pushy about it, or demanding. But he kept trying to get Xander to talk about it. Trying to get him to *do* something.
Xander didn't want to. He didn't want to so much that, a few nights, he'd stayed home just to not have this conversation the next morning. But each time he stayed the night at Giles' place, the harder it was to go home at all.
Giles was watching him and Xander realized he'd just been asked something which he hadn't heard. "Umm... huh?" Smoothly, of course. How could he expect anything less?
"I was just wondering if you'd come to a decision yet?" It was asked as casually as it had been all the other mornings.
"Oh." He turned back to his pancakes, pancakes with blueberries and walnuts in them, something he hadn't known was possible. He couldn't imagine not wanting them this way, now. "No, I--" He wanted to stop and let it be his decision. 'No.' But that meant not coming back, not staying here at night anymore.
But 'yes' meant...
"You can't continue like this, Xander." Giles was looking at his plate as he spoke.
Xander sighed. Usually it took Giles a bit longer to reach this point. Apparently he was finally trying the other man's patience. Maybe... too far. That realization led to another. "I guess I'll go home, then," he said quietly. He set his fork down. He wasn't really hungry now.
"Xander-" Giles reached out and caught his arm. "If you're not going to do anything, I'm going to have to."
Xander's head snapped up. "What?" This was new; usually Giles just told him he should do something. Tell someone, find a counselor, move out of his parents' home. He'd even offered his own place to move to. But he'd always -- til now -- left it as Xander's decision.
"I work in a public school. It's my legal responsibility to report any suspected abuse."
Xander's throat closed over any response he could have made. Staring back down at his not-so-tasty pancakes, he tried to say something resembling a response. "What if I said you didn't have any proof?" he finally said, glancing back up warily.
"Proof isn't needed. It's any suspicion." The older man met his gaze steadily. "And I have what I've seen and what I've heard. Proof or not, I *know*."
Xander felt his bottom lip beginning to twitch, and bit on it. He knew if he sat here too long, Giles would take the decision out of his hands. Is that what he wanted? Not to have to decide? Or did he want the answer to be so desperately yes, that he was afraid to say so?
Finally, before he hoped it was too late, he whispered, "If you report it, everyone will know."
Giles got up and moved until he was kneeling on one leg in front of Xander, hands resting on the boy's shoulders. "That is why you are keeping silent?"
Xander tried not to look at him, tried not to see the earnest, honest sincerity of the man who kept offering something he'd wanted forever. Stammering, nodding jerkily, he said, "Willow used to know. Knows, knows it used to... When I was 13 I told her it stopped. She was going to tell on them and have my folks arrested and I told her they stopped. I can't tell her I lied. She'll kill me, Giles. She'll--"
He'd said way too much. He felt scared, not duck-and-cover scared but ruined-everything scared, and bit his lip again. He felt strangely relieved, though, too. Like it was too late not to say anything now, so maybe... just maybe, things would be righted.
"She'll be angry, I've no doubt. But she'll also be relieved you're finally getting the help you should've had long ago. But how much worse will she feel if she finds out because one night you're not fast enough to run away and you end up in the hospital -- or worse? Are you willing to take the chance of making her live with that kind of guilt?"
Xander looked away. It wasn't like the thought was new. When he'd been little, when his grandmother was still alive and still provided him with someone who noticed him and loved him and sometimes was able to protect him, he'd tell her that the best part about it all was knowing she and Willow would come to his funeral and drop flowers on his grave.
But to tell her he'd been lying to her...
"She'll understand, Xander," Giles said quietly, seeming to answer his thoughts.
"No, she won't. Giles, you don't understand. She'll feel guilty because she believed me." Xander met the other man's gaze again, trying to make him understand. Not hurting Willow was more important than hurting himself.
With a sigh, Giles stood back up again. "Then we are at an impasse. Because legally and morally I can't let this continue."
"Can't we... do something without anyone knowing?" It wasn't the first time he'd asked. He knew what the answer would be.
The silent look he got in response told him the answer was the same.
"Please?" He couldn't help begging. Anything except telling everyone. Anything but actually going home.
"Would it help if I spoke to Willow first?"
He blinked. "Huh?" Again with the smooth comeback. "What... how would that help?"
"She can get angry at me. Get it out of her system as it were."
"I... I..." 'Think it's a great idea. I'll stay here in the closet... or under the bed, and you go tell everyone. I'll be out in ten years.'
He couldn't say yes.
"Please?" He wasn't sure he'd said it loud enough to be heard.
His answer was a brief squeeze to his shoulder and a "I expect to see you here tonight," and then Giles was moving past him towards the door. Xander knew where he was going.
To talk to Willow.
And being here tonight meant... third night in a row. It meant Giles was going to tell someone, *he* was going to tell someone, and it was all to get him *out* of his parents house. For good.
He had to pack.
~~~~~
He waited at Giles' until almost eight. Giles had left, not saying anything about Xander joining him for a ride to school. Xander cleaned the kitchen after proving unable to finish his breakfast, then headed for home. By now his father would be gone, and his mother wouldn't care when he came in and packed a duffel bag.
He didn't bother thinking about what to take, what to leave. He'd packed in his mind so many times -- packed a couple times for real, too -- that he knew what to grab. Soon he had clothes, books, and two boxes he never opened anymore all stuff in a bag. He ran downstairs with it slung over his shoulder. He didn't see anyone as he left.
It took an hour to get back to Giles' place, throw his bag down, shower, change, and head to school. Almost all the way through second period, by then, and no reason to sneak into class. He hung out, waiting, pretending there was no real reason for ditching his first two classes.
'He's told her by now,' he suddenly realized. Willow knew. She must.
The bell rang, and there was a fifteen minute break before third period. It was inevitable that the first person he would see would be Willow. She looked like she had something serious on her mind and her steps faltered when she saw him.
He looked down at the ground. Give her the chance to Not Deal With It Yet and go the other way. But after that initial hesitation she made a beeline right for him, expression a combination of determination and concern.
He kept glancing at her, then looking away. He was seized by the urge to run. Instead he waited. Soon he felt her touch his arm and he felt himself flinch.
He hated when he flinched.
She pulled back her hand immediately. "Sorry."
"Don't be. Not your fault." It was a lot harsher than he had any right to sound, with her. Willow had never done anything wrong.
"Giles told me..." She trailed off looking at him closely. "Are you all right?"
He opened his mouth to say something like 'Shouldn't I be?' or 'Of course' or something equally flippant, equally untrue.
But lying to Willow was what he'd been afraid of facing up to...
He shook his head and said nothing.
She stared at him for a moment then her face took on that determined expression that there was no arguing with. She grabbed his hand and said, "Come on," dragging him away from the crowded hallway.
He followed, always willing to do as Willow suggested -- with one major exception involving cops and foster homes. She took them to a classroom, empty now and for the next period. When the door closed behind them, she turned. He waited, hands in his pockets and hoping... for what, he didn't know.
"I'm not mad at you, Xander. Well I *was*, but being mad wouldn't really accomplish anything except make you uncomfortable and you're uncomfortable enough so..."
He just watched for a moment. It was kinda fun, in a reassuring way, to see her babbling like... normal. Like everything - like Willow, at least, this part of his world - was normal.
"But Giles is right. You've got to get out of there. I mean, we have enough danger in our lives, what with the vampires and assorted demons, you don't need anymore."
"Oh, so it's OK to be killed by marauding demons, just not my own folks?" He said it lightly, then wanted to smack himself as soon as he did. The look on her face was enough to want to smack himself again.
"I didn't mean -- I don't think--" Willow stammered.
He wanted to apologize. He knew he ought to. But he looked away. If he said nothing, maybe they wouldn't have to have this conversation at all.
Willow let out her breath in a long sigh. "Sorry."
So still, he said nothing. He stared at his feet, wondering if this meant Giles was going to be the one buying him new shoes in a month, when he out-grew these. Or was he going to need a part-time job? What could he do between school and fighting evil? Pizza delivery?
If he had a car.
Willow was still talking. "I'm saying this all wrong. I just wanted to tell you we're still friends and that I'm here for you if you need me. Like when we were kids, though I guess I wasn't much help back then..."
"You were." He moved forward, stopping her. "God, Willow, don't you know that sometimes you were all I had? I'm sorry. Sorry I lied and didn't tell you."
"You were scared." She waved a hand dismissing it. "I'm just as much to blame because I wanted to believe you. I wanted everything to be okay so I wouldn't have to tell and maybe get you sent away."
Xander looked down and realized he'd reached for her hand; she'd taken it, and he doubted either of them had done so consciously.
"But I'm glad you finally told someone."
"I hope--" He didn't have any idea what he hoped. He just... wanted things to be okay. Bearable. Handle-able. He heard the bell ring, and sighed in relief. "We better get to class."
Willow nodded and they started for the door, still hand in hand. "It'll be all right, Xander. You'll see."
He wanted to believe her. Instead he let her lead him to class, secure in the knowledge that, no matter what else happened, he could borrow her notes later.
Xander didn't get a chance to talk to his friends again until after school. At lunch he'd had to go to his first period and take the quiz he'd missed -- totally forgotten about, in fact.
As for the classes he shared with Willow and Buffy, there had been no chance to talk. Today was one of those days where all the teachers seemed to have agreed beforehand that every second would be spent writing, listening, learning. Not a peep from anyone, and hardly a sideways glance. He caught a few of those sideways glances anyhow, worried but encouraging from Willow, worried and confused from Buffy.
She still didn't know. Xander wondered if he could get Giles to tell her, too, while he hid in the stacks.
He made his way to the library after getting another lecture from Mrs. Peterson, his last class of the day. He'd nodded and looked earnest and by the time he'd managed to get here, pulling the library door open, he had no idea if he still had A Talk to go through or not.
When he entered he could hear Buffy badgering Giles about whatever secret she wasn't being told. Giles was in the process of fending her off when he looked up and saw Xander. Xander stopped just inside the door, trying to tell himself that feet moving would get him to the table faster. That was probably why there weren't moving.
Buffy noticed Giles looking at something and followed his line of sight. "Xander. Hi. Maybe you can tell me what's got everyone weirded out today. Well, more than usual weird."
"Um. Yeah. I could. Should. Probably, yes." He tried to shove his brain into a gear which would allow him to speak as if he knew what he was saying.
Behind Buffy, Giles was moving away. He said something to Willow which Xander couldn't make out but whatever it was had both Giles and Willow walking farther away.
Eep.
Xander looked at Buffy. "Hey." Oh yeah, that'll do it. She'll forget all about weirdness and secrets now.
"Hey," she repeated. "'Hey, there's a new demon in down wanting to suck out everyone's eyeballs out?' 'Hey, someone's got a fatal disease and only has 6 months to live?' 'Hey, Buffy, you've been walking around with a sign on your back saying, "Please Stake Me"?' What's hey?"
"Um, no, no, and we got it off at lunch." He grinned, grateful when she smiled back. This would be easier if she started off smiling.
"Ah. Good. Being staked would've totally ruined my day. Not to mention what it would've done to my reputation as a slayer."
"And ruined your shirt," he added, giving the article in question a nod. Hands shoved into his jeans pockets, he found himself beginning to rock back on his heels. Space. Need more space.
Maybe if he kept up the inanity long enough, she'd get bored or distracted and go away.
"That too," she agreed readily enough, moving closer and leaning back against one of the library tables. "So we've established what hey isn't..."
"Yeah." He leaned back again, and made himself stop. Surely she'd notice if he tried to keep three feet of space between them. She'd worry, think something was up. Oh, wait, she already did. "So."
Buffy shook her head. "Hey... so..."
"So. Hey." He grinned again, and she shook her head a little, obviously trying not to laugh. His humour left him as he realized that soon, now, she was going to ask.
"Is this conversation going to progress beyond monosyllables?"
"Um, yeah. I think. Maybe -- hey, that was two syllables!" He started to grin and stopped as she just looked at him. Sighing, Xander sat on the edge of the table and didn't quite look at her. "OK, weirdness, right. You probably mean me moving out of my folks' place and in with Giles because I'm tired of my father using me as a punching bag. That weirdness?" He could feel his heart pounding, siren song for any vampire within a dozen miles.
Good thing it was daytime.
Buffy was silent for a few beats. "I'm having a don't know what to say moment."
"OK, good. I'll sit here and pretend I didn't say it."
Another moment or two of silence. "Do you want me to go kick his butt for you?"
Blinking, Xander looked over at her and simply stared for a moment. "Wouldn't that go against the Slayer Code?" He noticed that he wasn't saying no. He opened his mouth to say no, and still didn't say it.
"I'm not sure. I haven't read it all the way through yet. Even if it is, I've never been all that good at following the rules. Especially where my friends are concerned." She slid closer to him, nudging his shoulder with her own.
He glanced over at her, almost afraid to see if she was serious. "I don't think it would help," he finally stammered. He caught a glimpse of Giles behind a bookcase and realized they were listening in, and that made him smile.
Buffy nodded. "Okay. The offer stands." She nudged his shoulder again. "Is there anything I can do?"
Xander shrugged. What else was there beyond not freaking? "Would you... not tell anyone about this? I mean you aren't exactly gossip-girl like some, say, Cordelia. But... this isn't exactly something I want going around."
She mimed turning a key in a lock over her mouth. "Mum's the word. Wild vampires couldn't drag it out of me."
"Thanks."
They stood there for a minute, neither saying a word. Xander wondered if there was more to say, because their eavesdroppers weren't coming out of hiding yet. "So, um. Flunk the last chemistry quiz?"
She smiled faintly. "Totally blew it. You?"
"Completely out of the water." Xander glanced towards the bookcase again. He saw movement, but little else. Then Giles stepped out, giving him a proud and resigned smile.
Buffy continued, "Have to work on that study versus slaying thing, I guess."
"Or maybe we can talk our teachers into giving us test on slaying. How about it, Giles? Pop quiz on types of demons and how to make 'em little piles of goo?"
"Somehow, no matter how practical that knowledge might be, I doubt the school board would accept it as part of the curriculum," Giles replied.
"Too bad, Demonology 101, I bet we'd ace it." He was relaxed, again. Hard topics safely hidden away again, he could smile and joke and relax.
"I bet we could get Ms. Calendar to teach it," Willow offered, joining in on his side, like always. He gave her the grin he always reserved for only her.
"I'm sure Giles would be able to talk her into it," Buffy teased her watcher with a grin.
"Ahem, yes, well, don't some of you have things to be doing? Studying, I'd say, if you're flunking chemistry quizzes." He gave Buffy a dour look.
"Right." She slid off the table. "Time to beat feet before he starts giving us homework."
"Oh, I dunno, I kinda like the homework he gives out," Willow started to say, subsiding only when Buffy gave her a fierce glare. Willow instead gave Giles a smile, and told Xander she'd see him tomorrow, and they left.
Xander watched them go before turning back to Giles. "Um... So..." He bit his lip. "Hey?"
Giles smiled faintly. "I'm done here for the day if you want a ride home."
"Yeah, that'd be... yeah." He suddenly remembered what he'd done that morning, and said, "I went home and got my stuff. I just dumped it in the living room I didn't know where... I mean..."
"Yes, well, I've been thinking about that. You can't very well sleep on my couch for the next couple of years-"
Something inside Xander froze. He *knew* Giles wouldn't just turn him over to juvie, and he didn't seriously think he'd retract his offer, not after nagging him into accepting.
Right?
He tuned back into what Giles was saying in time to hear, "-get a new place, one with two bedrooms. Xander? Are you listening?"
"Wha--what?" Two bedrooms? New...? "Giles, you can't break a lease just for me!"
"I might not have to. I called my landlord and there are a few two bedroom places he'd let me transfer into. I was thinking, if you're up to it, we could go take a look at them tonight."
At first, all Xander could do was blink. Then he grinned.
Giles continued, "After you do your homework, of course."
Xander groaned.
~~~~~
The landlord handed over one key at a time, letting Giles and Xander go look at the empty apartments on their own. It wasn't like she couldn't find them if they absconded with a key. Xander tried not to say anything while they looked at the first place, other than noncommittal uh-huhs and fines whenever Giles said something.
The first place had the same square footage as Giles' current apartment, making the two bedrooms small and cramped and the living room barely big enough for the couch and bookcases Giles would need to move in. Xander could tell Giles wasn't thrilled with it -- but the rent would only increase $50 a month.
The second place was huge, big enough for a family of three or four. It was bright and spacious, the westward windows would let in plenty of evening sun. Xander liked it, but didn't say anything more about it than he had the first. That one came with a rent increase of $150 a month.
Finally they went to look at a third, and Xander tried to pretend he didn't notice the looks he was getting from Giles. "I suppose this place is going to receive the same reaction as the others?" he finally asked Xander in a neutral tone.
Xander shrugged -- exactly as he'd done three times before. "It doesn't matter to me, Giles," he offered. "Whichever place you like. I'll just be happy if... you know." He turned away, ostensively looking at the small kitchen, set back from the dining area.
"But it's not just my decision," Giles said softly. He gently squeezed Xander's shoulder. "This is going to be your home, too."
"But I don't have to pay rent," he said, trying for breezily and feeling as if he'd landed flat on his face. Maybe if he got an after-school job he could help a little and they could get that big apartment. He could have the smaller bedroom that faced south and west, two large windows which promised to make the room warm at night, and cold in the morning.
"Don't worry about the rent. It's taken care of."
"Yeah, but you don't know how expensive a kid is these days." Xander knew. God knew his father had told him often enough. He saw Giles start to respond, and said hurriedly, "Giles, it doesn't matter to me. Whichever place you want."
Giles opened his mouth to answer, but closed it without saying anything. Instead he nodded decisively. "In that case, do you have any objections to the last one? With the windows?"
Hiding his grin, Xander shrugged. "Sure. It's cool."
He got the impression he hadn't fooled Giles, not entirely. Perhaps not at all.
The tiny smile Giles gave him as they made their way back to the landlord's apartment strengthened the impression. It didn't matter. If Giles wanted the nice, big, sunny-until-the-last-minute, spacious, comfy looking apartment -- who was he to say no?
~~~~~
Saturday morning, at an hour Xander was sure was early even for vampires who hadn't even been to bed yet, Giles woke him. With a cheery "get up, Xander, and eat. We have work to do", Giles jarred him out of a sound sleep.
Xander considered rolling over and grabbing another ten minutes, or even five, but unfortunately he was awake enough to remember why he was being awakened at such an hour. He rolled over, groaning as theatrically as he could, and stretched in his bed.
His bed. His furniture.
Giles had asked him, over dinner two nights ago. Quietly, with that thoughtful, apologetic look which told Xander something icky was about to be voiced. Usually it involved descriptions of demons they had to go fight. Recently, it was always about Xander's parents.
Xander had initially agreed to go ask his mom what he could take. He hadn't planned on going back to his folks' house, but he realised he couldn't exactly sleep on the floor for the next few years. He'd gone alone, despite Giles' offer, and had returned exactly one hour later and discovered just how safe and comforting Giles' embrace could be.
Then, after dinner that night, Giles had casually mentioned they'd needed to go to the new apartment to await a delivery. The delivery had turned out to be not only a bed, but an entire set of furniture for Xander's room. A bureau, a desk, some book shelves, everything he could have needed.
More than he had had in his old room.
He hadn't dared say a word about not needing it and you didn't have to do this. One look at Giles and the determined expression as he'd opened his mouth made him close it again and simply decide where he wanted what.
He'd slept in his new room ever since, and today they were moving all of Giles' belongings over. Tomorrow they'd clean the old place to within an inch of its life.
"Xander!" Giles voice came through the bedroom door again, reminding him he was supposed to be getting up and dressed. He groaned again, getting a very vivid impression of what the rest of his teenage life was going to be like.
Xander grinned, and shoved himself out of bed.
Breakfast was cold cereal, quickly consumed in their practically empty kitchen. Then the doorbell rang, and Xander went to find Willow and Buffy, looking as pleased as he was to be awake and about to lug boxes.
"Buff, Will, how's it going? Hey! Giles, they brought donuts!!" He relieved the girls of their burden and headed back in, relieving the box of donuts of some of *its* burden.
Everything the next little while was pretty chaotic as they tried to figure out who was going to do what and what had to be moved first. Finally though, a rough plan was worked out and the process of carrying everything to the new apartment began.
They did it systematically -- nothing else could have been expected, with Giles in charge. One room at a time, one part of each room at a time. Clean off a piece of furniture. move said furniture, move stuff back onto furniture in new apartment. Xander and Buffy did most of the heavy work -- Giles saying blithely that she could consider it part of her daily workout and thus have the rest of the day off, once they'd finished. Willow cleared off bookcases and tables, and Giles set everything back up in the new locale.
"So this is really happening, huh?" Buffy asked him as they were wrestling with a small bookcase.
Xander nodded, telling himself not to bite his lip while he was likely to stumble, drop a bookcase, and put his teeth through his lip. He wanted to show off his new bedroom furniture, but the idea of doing so seemed silly. If not a rather clumsy come-on... Even if it wasn't, anymore. He could just hear himself, though. He settled for not tripping while he walked backwards, bookcase in hand.
"Your parents are just letting you go?"
"Yeah." What else was there to say to that?
Buffy was silent as they hefted the bookcase up the stairs. "That's good, I guess," she finally said. "I mean it sucks, but..."
"Yeah." It'd have been nice if they'd argued. It'd have been nice if they'd offered to help. An apology, or a promise to-- Xander cut himself off. He'd thought these things before, and they hadn't changed. He looked up as they set the bookcase down, and grinned. "Wanna see my bedroom?"
"Sure." She paused as they started to walk across the room. "You did mean that like 'see your bedroom' and not like 'show me your etchings' or something, right?"
Xander looked properly taken aback. "Buff, you wound me. I mean that figuratively, of course. Would I show you etchings? Would I even have an etch to show? I had an etch-a-sketch once, but I gave it to Willow when we were seven. She still has it." He led her to his room, went in, then proudly moved aside. "Voila. Chateau ala Xander. Did I just mix my languages again?"
"Just the French with the English." She moved past him and turned around in a circle, looking the place over.
"Ah, good, I meant French and English and something else I didn't know I was saying." He realized he was babbling. Who could blame him? It wasn't often -- or ever -- that he'd invited a beautiful girl into his bedroom and actually had her say yes. Granted he *hadn't* meant it like that and besides there were people--
Giles stuck his head into the doorway. "Ah, there you are. We're taking a break for lunch. Sandwiches are in the kitchen."
"Ah! Great, food!" Xander forced himself not to leap backwards, guiltily. Both Buffy and Giles looked at him, and he just looked back. "What?"
Buffy shook her head, smiled and kissed his cheek. "Don't ever change," she said as she headed for the kitchen.
He watched her go, glancing down at himself and saying, "Won't my clothes start to smell after a couple weeks?" and followed them.
They made small talk as they ate, talking about school, slaying, all the usual things. Xander had a hard time staying in his chair. He wanted to jump up and *move*, but all he could think of to do was start moving heavy stuff again and he really didn't see the point in leaving food, to lug boxes. Not until he had to. But neither could he sit still.
The weird part was, no one seemed to act like anything weird was going on. It was like this was perfectly normal, his moving in with Giles was perfectly ordinary. Like nothing had changed, even though they knew.
He noticed the occasional glance his way, the occasional look which said nothing unless you were paranoid, in which case it said 'I know; we all know'. Xander didn't know what they thought they knew. He was beginning to suspect he was getting himself worked up over nothing -- he was barely making sense, even to himself.
It was almost a relief when they finished lunch and went back to lugging boxes, furniture and whatnots.
Giles had a lot of whatnots. Also a lot of gizmos and whatchamacallits. And then there was the really strange stuff that he had no idea what it was. What worried him most, was that living here, with Giles, meant he'd probably learn.
~~~~~
Xander collapsed on the couch, and stared at the ceiling. He never, ever, wanted to do this again. It wasn't that the work had been hard, or the lugging too heavy. But it had gone on, and on... *All* day they'd spent moving. Every time he thought they'd return to Giles' old place and find there was only one more thing, there had been a dozen more things to move.
Xander swore that someone was going out and bringing stuff in while they weren't looking. No one person should own so much *stuff*. But he hadn't complained. He couldn't -- all this work was for him. *Him*. He glanced over at Giles, who was collapsed on the couch beside him.
He wanted to... he didn't know what. Thank him. But the words didn't even form well enough to get lodged in his throat. Giles glanced at him and caught him staring. He wondered what expression he must be wearing to make the older man look at him with such concern. "Xander?"
The expression made him feel funny, in ways he couldn't begin to describe. He pushed the feelings aside and stammered, "Thanks." He looked away, wondering if this was just his day for making a fool of himself. He had seen those indulgent looks his friends had been giving each other all day.
"You're welcome," Giles replied with a faint smile.
Xander waited a moment, then when nothing else -- nothing weird -- happened, let himself go back to having collapsed on the couch. Then he thought of something even more important than Giles. "When's dinner?"
He watched as Giles lifted his head and looked at the kitchen, then reached for the phone instead. "As soon as the pizza is delivered."
"Pizza!" He bounced off the couch, laughing at Giles' expression of disbelief. "We have soda?" He headed for the kitchen to check, grinning at Giles' muttering behind him. It sounded something like 'simply isn't *fair*'. He got out two cans of soda as he heard Giles phoning in their order.
The pizza had barely arrived, when the phone rang. Giles went to answer it as Xander picked up a slice of pizza. Listening to the conversation, he quickly realized he better eat fast. When words like "vampires" and "nest" and "how many" were bandied about, hopes for a quiet night at home pretty much disappeared.
He devoured the first slice even as he was getting up and searching the room for his shoes. He grabbed a second slice as he headed for the cabinet where they kept weapons, pulling out the usual array and stuffing them all into a duffel bag.
He was devouring the third slice as Giles hung up, and stopped only long enough to mumble "What?" around a mouthful of pizza, at the look Giles gave him.
"You do chew, don't you?" was all Giles asked, and then they were grabbing the duffel and jackets and -- for Xander, one more slice of pizza -- and were headed out the door.
~~~~~
After the usual night of fighting for their lives and rescuing the world from incipient evil, they headed back to the apartment. It was... nice... Xander thought, to not be more afraid of heading home than fighting than undead.
He was actually looking forward to it, their first night together in their new place. He stopped that train of thought before it could become too sappy. Too... He caught Giles' look and realized he'd been talking non-stop, excitedly, for the last half hour.
He smiled, sheepishly.
Giles smiled back, understanding clear in his eyes. "No more soda for you tonight."
"Soda? Giles, man, this is so far past caffeine and sugar -- actually I could use another coke, all that vampire slaying and ducking away from makes me thirsty. This is all just me. Me, me, me, out late at night and full of post-killing adrenaline and -- hey! There's cold pizza at home, isn't there?" Xander didn't twitch as he heard what he'd said. Home. He focused on the pizza.
"There should be a few slices left that you didn't manage to inhale."
"Ah, you say that like you were never 16."
"It has been a while, but I do have some rather vague memories."
"Vague? Geez, you're not that old." Xander realized he was starting to babble again, starting to bounce. Maybe that third soda *had* been a mistake.
"Thank you." Giles smiled. "Buffy is convinced I am one step up from decrepit."
"Decrepit?" Xander turned and eyed Giles carefully. Up and down, laughing at the way Giles rolled his eyes at him. "You're not decrepit. You have at least a couple more years left."
"If you and your friends don't age me prematurely in the meantime."
"Nah, keeping up with us will keep ya young." He stepped sideways casually, bumping into Giles. When the other man stumbled, Xander laughed, and ran ahead.
He heard the older man mutter something resignedly, but when he glanced back over his shoulder Giles was still smiling.
Xander laughed again. This was good.
~~~~~
Four days and Xander was still walking on air. Eggshells, too. Eggshells in the air, he told himself. It was hard to believe this was *real*, and yet the way he felt told him it was.
He was relaxed, and comfortable, and he could even wander around the apartment any time of the day or night, doing anything he wanted, and so far the worst he'd gotten was a raised eyebrow and a dry suggestion of wouldn't he rather do something else.
He had a feeling Giles knew he was just testing. He didn't mean to, not really, not that he wanted to know what happened if he pushed Giles too far.
But he couldn't help himself.
At the moment he was trying to be good, doing his homework before Giles could ask him to.
"--discuss this in a reasonable manner, I'm certain we can come to an agreement." Giles voice drifted to him through his partially open bedroom door.
He set his pencil down -- that tone of voice was a lot more intriguing than algebra, anyhow. Giles was angry, but it was carefully hidden under English politeness.
"That isn't what I consider a reasonable manner, aside from being physically impossible." Giles voice rose slightly. "Look, Mr. Harris-"
He couldn't have moved even if he'd thought it a good idea. Xander stared up at the wall he'd decorated with posters Willow had given him, one a year for the last five years for reasons only she knew and Xander didn't need to understand. He didn't see them. Didn't see *anything* as Giles' voice went on.
"Yes, I know, but that isn't the same thing as your truck or your house. You can't own another person. Xander isn't your possession."
All Xander could think of to that was 'Huh?' Why did it matter if anyone owned him? Unless... did they want him back? Then he realized he hadn't heard the phone ring, which meant Giles had called his folks. Which meant... he didn't have a clue what Giles meant by his remark.
"I don't respond well to threats, Mr. Harris." Giles' voice had gone completely cold.
Threats? What could his father possibly be threatening Giles for? His mom had practically said she didn't care where he lived when he'd gone to ask for his furniture. He hadn't seen or talked to his father at all since that night. Why would he be threatening Giles?
Unless... he was threatening Giles not to let him come back? Xander shook his head. That didn't make any sense. But why was Giles talking to his folks in the first place?
"We can do this the easy way and you can sign the papers voluntarily, or we can do this the hard way, involving the courts. Either way, Xander is not going back there."
Xander nearly fell backwards out of his chair. *That* was what this was about? He had no idea... had absolutely no idea...
The papers Giles had mentioned reminded him of the research he, Jesse, and Willow had done when they were nine. Papers to get Xander legally away from his folks, they'd planned on Jesse's parents adopting him. But why would Giles need legal papers? He was sixteen, he'd only be here for a couple years before heading out on his own.
Giles was continuing. "Of course if I have to go through the courts, there'll be criminal consequences as well. Shall I be contacting social services and starting legal proceedings or--" He stopped for a moment and when he spoke again there was a fierce satisfaction in his voice. "I thought you'd see it my way. My lawyer will contact you about a meeting to settle everything."
Xander was on his feet and halfway to the door before he regained presence of mind to stop himself. What was he doing? Run in there and... what? Demand to know it was true?
Demand to know it wasn't?
He took another step towards the door, stopped again, and put his hand on the doorknob. Two more heartbeats and he was standing in the doorway to Giles' bedroom, in time to see Giles hanging up the phone.
"Bastard," the man muttered softly, then looked up, starting a little at Xander's presence.
Xander felt his mouth opening, but no sound came out.
Giles got up and moved to his side. "You heard."
"Yeah. You..." Xander listened to a dozen half-formed questions swirling in his mind. Most of them began with 'why', so he wasn't terribly shocked when he heard himself ask it.
"Because it was the proper thing to do."
Xander clamped his jaw closed so he wouldn't say anything else. 'Proper' meant... He relaxed, suddenly, as he realized what Giles was doing. Why, rather. As a minor, he'd need his legal guardian to do the stuff that legal guardians did. With all the evil slayage he was involved in, chances were good he'd need a few stitches some night, and calling his folks to come down to the ER -- well, it had never been a good idea. It wouldn't be any better with him out of the house. Xander nodded, calmly.
"And because I wanted you to know this is permanent." Giles met his eyes seriously. "There is nothing you can do to screw that up."
"I... what? Screw this up?" He hadn't even begun to worry about that part of it, yet. He'd been so floating on airy eggshells that he hadn't thought about the day Giles decided it was all too much for him. He blinked. "Permanent? You mean--" *Those* papers? Not the parental release form you sent to school before a zoo trip -- ok, bad memory there, thanks -- but those papers?
Like he and Jesse had photocopied out of the law books at the UCS library, and filled out, for practice?
"Of course it is your decision," Giles said, looking a bit uncertain. "If you would rather I didn't--"
Xander didn't give that comment any more thought than it needed. It wasn't his decision -- rather, it was, but he'd made it the night he'd come running to Giles in the middle of the night. "Are... they gonna let me?"
Giles nodded. "Yes."
He started smiling, wanted to shout for joy. They were gonna sign whatever papers Giles' lawyer -- Giles had a lawyer? -- brought and he could stay here, permanently. Giles *wanted* him to stay here, and his folks were... only letting him to avoid a court fight. A public fight, where everyone found out why Giles was trying to take Xander away from them.
Xander looked at that thought twice, before deciding he didn't mind. Liked it, in fact.
Until he realized what the flip side of that meant, and he felt all the blood rush from his head and into his shoes.
"Xander?!" Giles was grabbing hold of him and then sitting him on the bed.
It took a few tries to get in enough oxygen to speak. When he could, he looked up to find Giles watching him, worried and concerned, hovering protectively. He wanted to throw himself into the man's arms, like he'd done before, and stay where he knew he was safe -- and wanted. "They don't--"
"I didn't give them a choice."
He grabbed onto the soft words as the offering they were -- an excuse, a reason, a way to pretend his parents hadn't just admitted they didn't really want him. But the arms that closed around him did that better, telling him that he *did* belong, somewhere.
He should be grateful he didn't have to go home. Xander closed his eyes and let his head fall; it rested against Giles' shoulder, and for a long time he said nothing at all.
"They don't deserve you," Giles said softly, "but I know it still hurts."
It was like getting permission. He hadn't intended to, hadn't thought he'd need to. But the quiet understanding pulled the tears out of him, and try as he might to stifle it, he couldn't stop.
Giles murmured quiet words that he couldn't make out, but the tone was comforting, as were the arms still holding him. Reminding him he wasn't alone.
Would, apparently, not be alone again.
~~~~~
"So what's 'a' again?"
Willow looked up from her books. "Xander, are you paying attention?"
Xander gave her his best 'wounded, of course I am, I love this stuff' expression he'd been perfecting since the second grade. Then, "Of course not. It's algebra. Can't I just copy your answers?"
"I heard that!" came from the other room, and Xander mock-glared through the wall at Giles.
"He heard that," Willow repeated, gesturing at the wall. "Here, I'll talk you through it again."
With a sigh, Xander returned his attention back to the books. It didn't seem fair; he'd only just gotten the hang of math a couple years ago, now all of a sudden they changed the rules. Letters instead of numbers -- this was math? Living with someone who expected him to actually do his homework was no real picnic, either.
Well, it was nice, but couldn't Giles have a more Montessorian attitude about it? "I'm sorry, that's a what?"
Willow sighed and closed her book. "Let's take a break."
"Break! Great, I can do break. Food?" Xander jumped to his feet before Willow could say something silly like a break didn't require refreshments.
They left their homework scattered across Xander's desk and headed for the kitchen. They passed Giles in the living room, who merely glanced up and gave them a Look. Xander knew that look well, and he'd only been living with the man for two weeks.
Willow caught it, too, and when they were in the kitchen stocking up on munchies, she asked quietly, "How's everything going? Y'know, with you living here and all."
"It's good! Things are good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He nodded, handing the can of cheese doodles to Willow and taking two cans of soda in one hand. Loaded down, they went back to Xander's room, and Xander flopped down on his bed. He wasn't sure how to describe to her what it was like living here.
Sitting on the corner of his bed, Willow cocked her head and looked at him. "You do seem different. Less... manic. I never really noticed how tense you always were before, even when I knew you were tense. But even when you weren't being tense, you were always a lot more... tense."
He raised his head a little, returning her serious gaze. "Yeah. I'd forgotten what it was like..." He sat up, crossing his legs. "It's kinda like when I stayed at Jesse's in the summer. Up to and including the paperwork." He grinned. He still remembered the way Willow had screamed and hugged him when he'd told her what Giles had done.
She smiled back at him and he wondered if she was remembering the same thing. "I'm happy it's working out."
"It is. I think..." He stifled the urge to say something, anything to make it less certain, to make it sound like he didn't care. He couldn't. But neither could he just sit here and take it all so seriously. "Well, except for the homework thing."
"That's what you get for letting a librarian adopt you."
"Yeah, I shoulda picked Mr. Gardener." Gardener was a loony old man who lived near the edge of town. All the kids in town knew him because his yard backed up against the river. He chased kids off his lawn by shooting ping pong balls at them. Xander opened his eyes wide into a happy leer. "Or Mrs. Delreydo. Oo! How about Mrs. Summers? Think of all the chances I'd get to accidently meet Buffy in the hallway after her shower. Or before her shower. Or-- ow!"
"I should tell Buffy you said that," Willow told him after whapping him in the arm. She was giving him that exasperated look she always gave him when acted outrageously.
"I think she knows I'd like to see her-- ow!" He rubbed his arm again. "You've gotten vicious in your old age, you know that?"
"Someone's got to try and keep you in line." She shrugged. "I've known you the longest so the duty falls to me."
He opened his mouth to make a witty retort, and, frustratingly, his mind blanked. 'Have not' wasn't true, and 'Do not'... wasn't true either. When Willow began to giggle at him, he settled for, "Oh yeah?"
She giggled. "Yeah. And don't you forget it."
For a moment he was able to keep a straight face. Then he lost it, and laughed with her. The funniest part was he didn't exactly know why he was laughing.
They ended up leaning against each other when they finally stopped laughing, breathless. She hugged him briefly before moving away.
"Oh, god, my stomach hurts." Xander stared up at the ceiling and tried to breathe.
"Mine too. Wonderful, isn't it?"
He grinned. "Yeah. I fact, it hurts so much I think I couldn't possibly do anymore algebra."
"I heard that!" came from the living room.
That sparked more laughter, and they collapsed on the bed.
Finally, when they calmed down again, Xander turned his head to look at Willow. They were lying side by side, and she was looking back at him, a wide grin on her faced as she continued to giggle.
"Hey."
"Hey," she said back.
"I made it," he said softly, swallowing against the sudden nervousness that had hit him.
Willow smiled at him, but her voice was serious when she answered. "Yeah, you did. Finally."
He sat up, fast, uncomfortable saying things that used to be said only in the dark. "And you know what? He's gonna get me a car," he said in a slightly raised voice.
There was a pause, then, "I'm *what*?"
~~~~~
At least he didn't have to wear a tie. He hadn't had to dress up at all, and it was a good thing because he didn't own anything nicer than cargo pants and a clean shirt.
Giles hadn't dressed up -- rather, he always wore nice stuff so his usual was nice enough for a visit to the lawyer. He looked a lot more comfortable than Xander felt, as well.
"You know you don't have to do this," Giles told him in a low voice, eyeing him concernedly.
He stilled his bouncing leg and took a deep breath. They'd been discussing this for two weeks. Every conversation they had came around to this, every stretch of silence eventually broken by those words.
"Yeah, I do."
His folks were going to be here soon -- assuming they remembered to show up -- and Xander couldn't let this happen without being here. One small part of him said it was in hope they'd see him, realize their mistakes, and ask him to come home. He didn't really believe it would happen, so most of him wanted to be here because... he had to.
Giles didn't say anything more, just reached over and touched his arm reassuringly. Xander took a deep breath at that, steadying himself. Whatever happened he wouldn't be facing it alone. And that was the other reason he was here. Because he *wasn't* alone. He had Giles.
That was rather the whole point of this, he told himself in the sardonic tone he reserved for only himself. Before he could think another word, though, the door opened.
Xander was on his feet in an instant, comforted when Giles stood as well, conveniently placing himself between Xander and his parents. His father looked belligerent, glaring at him in the way that used to say wait until we get home and then you'll be sorry. Except this time he wasn't going home.
His mother had no expression at all. She'd been crying, Xander had no doubt. It was her most common reaction to things she couldn't control, couldn't stop. Cry hysterically until someone stepped in to fix things, or until everyone agreed to ignore it 'til it went away.
He suddenly realized he wasn't going to miss living with them. He slipped his hand into Giles' as the secretary came out to announce that Mr. Levine would see them now.
Giles kept himself between Xander and his parents as they walked and then settled in chairs inside the lawyer's office. Everything had been well-prepared. All they had to do at this point was sign the papers. So of course Xander's father decided not to make things easy.
"I wanna see those things again," he demanded, even though he'd been sent a copy a week before. Xander knew he was just trying to make sure everyone knew whose call this was. Drawing attention to himself, his delusion of being the one in charge. When they were handed over, he muttered and grumbled as he read them over. "There's no loopholes here are there?" he asked looking up and glaring at both Giles and Mr. Levine. "You're not going to be coming back asking for money or anything are you? You want him, fine, but I ain't paying for no hoity toity lifestyle."
Xander felt himself starting to shrink back in his chair. He glanced at his mom again, she was carefully looking away, ignoring them all.
"I think you've given him quite enough, Mr. Harris," Giles replied, his voice cold and full of suppressed anger.
The hard tone made Xander want to curl up behind Giles. He fought back a grin at the thought; Giles was probably the sort to let him sneak into his bedroom in the middle of the night after a bad dream. Thinking about that distracted him from whatever his father had to say in response.
"You don't want to lower the timbre of this conversation any more, Mr. Harris. You really don't want to deal with me if I get nasty."
Xander shivered. He glanced over at his father and grinned freely as he saw his father turn a lovely shade of bloodless. His father muttered something Xander was glad he couldn't make out, and watched as he leaned forward... and signed the paper.
Despite everything, something in Xander was dying at the sight, the part that had always, even in the face of the facts to the contrary had wanted to believe that his parents loved him and wanted him crying out at this proof that he wasn't. For the moment he was unwanted, unclaimed, alone.
Then the papers were passed to Giles.
He watched as Giles signed, signed the paper that said he wanted, accepted, and had in fact demanded the right to take Xander. It didn't come close to filling the hole that had been ripped inside him, but it was... something. Xander remained still as the papers were passed back to Mr. Levine, not really hearing the last of the polite 'well now that that's done's.
He felt Giles tugging at his hand as he stood, and stood with him. Xander didn't look back as they left the office.
"Are you all right?" Giles asked as they waited for the elevator.
He shook his head, staring ahead. He didn't want to see his folks come out behind them -- oh god, if they had to ride down on the elevator together... Giles just might tear his father apart. On second thought, that might not be such a bad idea.
"Of course you're not, stupid question." A short pause and then Giles asked, "Would you rather we took the stairs?"
"No, I'm fine, this is fine," and he realized that standing still was a bad idea, and turned towards the stairwell.
Giles followed him without a word.
They made it all the way back to the car before anything was said. Giles put the key in the ignition, then stopped turned to him. "Do you want to go for ice cream?"
"Ice cream?" The totally normality of the question startled Xander out of the swirling inability to think that had held him since they'd walked out of the lawyer's office. Food, he told himself. You can always do food.
"Yeah, let's get ice cream."
~~~~~
Xander waited until Willow got inside. He'd walked her home, since Buffy was on patrol -- with Angel. Willow and Xander had made their excuses and left the two alone. Xander had escorted Willow home, as he had since what seemed like his entire life.
It wasn't until he'd left her there and gone an entire block, that he realised this wasn't going to be his normal post-dropping-Willow-off walk home. His folks lived about a quarter mile away, down several well-lit and well-trafficed streets.
Giles, on the other hand, lived about a mile away. The only short cuts were down alleys...
Xander closed his eyes. Giles was going to kill him. If he got home alive.
He hurried, trying not to think of the last time he'd crossed town after dark alone. He had no idea how he'd managed to do it without seeing anything undead or monstrous, but he hoped he could do it again tonight.
As he crossed a street in full view of the streetlights, he found himself thinking about that night. It was bizarre. He hadn't really thought of it, though it'd only been about three months ago. Nearly two months since he'd moved in with Giles, and since then he hadn't thought of that night... more than a dozen or so times.
He thought of it now, and found himself feeling nothing that he'd felt that night. There was no fear, not really. A nagging sense of stupidity, perhaps. But not the deadening pain he'd felt that night. It gave him an eerie sense of confidence, and he strode on, suddenly not really caring what he met.
Which meant, naturally... "Well, what have we here?"
Xander stopped and looked over. The vampire leaning against the brick wall had his arms crossed, leaning casually as though he weren't about to leap for Xander's neck. But Xander grinned, with a spark of bravado he hadn't realised he'd feel at seeing this vampire again. "Spike."
"What brings the Slayer's batboy out on a night like this?" The vampire was smiling as though toying with his food.
But Xander wasn't frightened. Didn't mind at all, he discovered. Spike could kill him, and it wouldn't matter. He left his hands at his sides, leaving alone the bookbag on his shoulder where a stake lay, an easy grasp in the side pocket. Spike was faster than he, he'd reasoned. Later.
Xander had been not-afraid of death his whole life. For years, it was because death was an escape. He knew he wasn't afraid now because even if he died, it wouldn't change the fact that for a little while, he'd had it all. He could die having been happy -- and *that* was worth dying for.
Besides, being eaten by Spike wasn't anything like being betrayed by a parent. Xander grinned. It was like being mad at a hyena for eating its prey. Been there, done that, had the bib to prove it.
Spike frowned at him slightly and walked over. Xander tensed, then relaxed, watched him approach. Spike stopped a few inches away and Xander could feel the chill from the vampire's gaze riving through him. Maybe 'spike' had nothing to do with railway iron. "So. Out late, aren't you?"
"Said that already," Xander pointed out. "Not in so many words, but it's implied in the statement 'a night like this'. In context. You have to take things in context." Perhaps he was a little nervous.
But Spike laughed. OK, maybe a *lot* nervous.
"You know that if you eat me, Buffy'll slay your ass, right?"
"Oh, very brave. Hiding behind mommy's skirts, are we?" Spike sneered at him, half-frown and half-smile.
"Hey, an Oedipus complex. Now *that'd* be new and different. And yeah, I'll gladly step aside and let her kick your butt. It'll be fun." Xander grinned. "Oh, wait, it already *was* fun." He wanted to slap himself. He wasn't dead yet -- why in the world was he taunting a vampire?
"Yeah, well, we all have our triple low days. You're amusing, though. I like that in an entree." Spike's face changed, and Xander was caught, staring at his eyes. "But I'm through with being amused."
Xander tilted his head to one side, considering. "You know, you should see someone about those. I like the colour, but the whole pinpoint iris thing has got to make it hard to see."
"What?" Spike stopped, and looked at him with a perplexed expression which looked fairly ridiculous in ridges and gold.
"And can I ask you something? Can you *feel* your fangs lowering? I mean, doesn't it hurt? Or is it kinda like losing a baby tooth? Just plops out and you get a quarter from the vampire fairy." Xander suspected he had a plan. Keep talking until someone walked by. Someone conveniently carrying a stake, or a cross, or a cellphone. On the other hand, now he was genuinely curious.
Perhaps he could ask Angel. Oh, wait. He had to live through this, first.
"Don't you ever shut up?"
"Not so's you'd notice," Xander admitted.
Spike shook his head. "Forget it. Not turning you. I'm not going to listen to this for the next hundred years."
"*Turn* me?"
"Yeah, turn you. What better to send to soften up the Slayer, than an old friend? Maybe that girl would be better," he continued, thoughtfully.
Xander, however, was offended. "What makes you think I'd hang around with you for a hundred years? Alaska in summer would be better, I'm thinking. Turn me and the first thing I do is pack my bags."
Spike opened his mouth to respond, then stopped. He glared at Xander and shook his head again. "Forget it. You're dinner."
"Yeah, I bet it does hurt. That's why you're not answering."
Another irritated glare. But hey, not dead yet. Though he was going to ensure Spike ripped him apart instead of merely drinking from him... but wasn't that better than making Buffy slay him? Xander looked at Spike's mouth, closely. "What the bloody hell are you doing?" Spike jerked backwards a bit. Then, in a very severe tone, he said, "They do *not* hurt coming in!" He glared some more, then demanded, "Why the hell aren't I killing you, yet?"
It was a very good question. Xander wondered if he knew the answer.
Spike narrowed his eyes. "You're not out here on some sort of death wish, are you? Depression makes the blood taste off."
Xander blinked. "What makes it taste good?" OK, a second dumb question. He had a sudden image of himself finding out when Spike smiled, and leaned forward.
He whispered, in a low, very smooth voice, "Fear."
That had probably been a gimmie. But Xander found himself asking, regardless of the way Spike's fangs were really, really close to his neck, "What about too many preservatives?"
Again, a dumbfounded blink. "Preservatives?
"Yeah, like from twinkies and soda. High cholesterol -- does that make the blood taste, I dunno, stale and unappetising?"
"Actually, I rather like twinkies. But I'm tired of talking. I'm hungry."
Xander didn't even take a step back. He didn't know why -- he was definitely feeling the fear, now. Not the mind-numbing, out-of-control, sheer paralysing terror he was sure Spike's victims were usually feeling at this point. If not several minutes before. But fear, just enough to make his blood have that nice, refreshing flavour to it. Spike'd probably enjoy him. Gourmet vampires, who knew? He wondered who would serve the mint, and laughed.
~~~~~
It was late, way later than he'd ever come home since moving in. Giles had never really set a curfew, but Xander knew that 'be in before dark' was just expected. Unless he was off doing his Slayerette duty, of course. Which he hadn't been.
Which Giles knew.
Without a back door, it wasn't like he could try sneaking in. He wasn't really sure he *needed* to sneak in. He didn't know he didn't. He walked slower and slower as he approached the stairs that led up to their apartment.
He didn't even have the forlorn hope that Giles had gone to bed, as his parents had as often as not; he could see from where he was that the living room light was on and the shadow moving past the window told him that Giles was not only wide awake, but worried enough to pace.
It wasn't like he had nothing to hide, either. He was fairly sure Giles wouldn't approve of his little... encounter. Rather, Giles would whole-heartily approve of his surviving it, but would most certainly not approve of it having happened, at all. Xander felt the oddest sense of calm about the whole evening, up to and excluding going in to face Giles.
But standing out here all night wasn't going to help. With a sigh, he walked up to the front door, key out. Before he could put it in the lock the door was jerked open and Giles was standing there staring at him.
"Um, hey," Xander managed. They stood there for a moment before Giles stepped back enough for Xander to walk in.
"Are you all right?" Xander didn't think he'd heard that particular tone of voice from Giles before.
"Yeah, I'm fine." He headed past Giles to set his backpack on the couch. He'd been carting the thing around all day -- that'd teach him to actually intend on doing his homework...
"You're sure?" Giles was still staring at him in that same strange intent way.
"Of course. No bite marks, see?" He craned his head sideways, giving Giles a clear view. Spike hadn't even tried to bite him, leaning in close enough to sniff his neck notwithstanding. Figure that one out, sometime when he had nothing better to worry about. He'd been expecting to die, right up until Spike patted his cheek and said, "Next time, pet. Your reward for being entertaining" and walked away.
Who knew he had a superpower? The ability to entertain. Defeats evil vampires every time...
Xander could practically see the tension in the older man disappear; Giles' shoulders slumped and his breath whooshed out in a noisy sigh.
"Hey, relax. If I'd been dead, I'd have called." He grinned and headed towards the kitchen. He was starving. Again.
"Do you know what time it is?" Giles asked, and this time Xander recognized the tone. He'd heard it a lot at home.
He stopped, and turned. "Um, it's late?" He looked at his watch. Ouch. Very late.
"Late. As in after dark. You know what that means. And you were out -- alone."
"I wasn't alone!" The words were out before he could stop them, and he was grateful that for part of the walk he had been with Willow. No way was he going to say he'd been hanging with Spike, unintentional though it had been. He didn't need to be scolded for endangering himself with inappropriate chatter. "I was with Will. Took her home. I..." He looked away, and apologized. "I forgot that I live so much farther away from her now. I'm used to walking her home so she'll get there safely, you know?"
"I phoned Willow. You left her over two hours ago. It doesn't take that long to walk from her place to here. Where were you?" Giles demanded, his voice getting louder as he spoke.
"I was on my way home." Xander swallowed nervously. He froze as Giles took another step closer, then jumped backwards into the wall as Giles raised his hand.
Giles' eyes widened and his expression turned into one of horrified realization and he immediately lowered his hand. Speaking softly, as if to a spooked animal, he said, "Oh, god. Xander... it's all right, Xander. No one's going to hurt you."
"Yeah, I know." His voice sounded funny. Was he shaking? Oh, god, what if Giles did hit him? What on earth...
"I'm not going to hit you. I'll never hit you. You have my word." He was looking steadily into Xander's eyes, still speaking in that soft voice.
Xander knew -- sort of -- that Giles was telling the truth. He knew that Giles believed it.
He was still shaking.
On the other hand, he really, really wanted to believe Giles, too. He must have made a noise, because Giles was there beside him, suddenly. Not threatening, not anything except looking like he wanted to hold him.
"May I-?" Giles asked, not touching without permission.
Xander had to take a deep breath, then he nodded, diving in towards Giles even as Giles was raising his arms again. Then those arms were closing around him, hugging him comfortingly, reassuringly. He dropped his head on Giles' shoulder. His breath was coming in shudders; he wasn't sure if it was from this or leftover from -- what *had* he been thinking, talking to Spike that way?
He had no idea why Spike had decided to let him live.
He grabbed onto Giles, hanging on as tightly as he could. Giles held him just as tightly, murmuring, "It's all right," over and over.
"I... I'm sorry. I didn't... I'm sorry," he stammered.
"What happened?"
"S...s...spike," was all he managed.
The arms holding him tightened at that. "Are you all right?" Giles asked in a low tense voice.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm... he didn't..." Xander took a deep breath. "I think I just amused him."
He got a soft chuckle in response. "I do believe you could talk yourself out of anything."
Xander laughed, once. Then he felt something breaking, inside him, and he made no noise at all as he held himself together.
"It's all right," Giles repeated again. "I've got you. You're safe."
Xander let himself believe, finally. He closed his eyes and listened to the soft voice in his ear, felt the arms around him promising security and protection. He was safe.
He was home.
"Better?" Giles asked after a moment.
He pulled away slightly, nodding and sniffing. "I think I'm OK. Sorry for freaking out on you, G-man."
"I shouldn't have lost my temper."
Forcing a grin, he offered, "You can make it up to me. Pizza party?"
"You can order a pizza, but no party. Not for the next two weeks anyway. You're grounded."
Xander felt his jaw drop. "I'm what?" He re-focused on the other important part of the statement. "Not even Willow and Buffy?"
Giles raised an eyebrow. "Letting you have your friends over would undermine the point of grounding wouldn't it?"
"I'm really grounded?" He found himself starting to grin for real. It was bizarre, but... "Grounded? For coming home late or for talking to Spike?" He hadn't done anything else worthy of punishment -- unless Mrs. Grainger had graded their essays already.
"I imagine talking to Spike would be its own punishment. You're grounded because you walked home that late alone." Giles looked at Xander sternly. "You should've phoned. I would've come and picked you up."
"Oh." Xander blinked. "I hadn't thought of that." It made sense, of course. In retrospect. "I'm sorry. You're right, I should have called."
The older man was looking at him strangely. "You've never had anyone to call before, have you?"
Xander shrugged, and finally moved away from Giles. It was weird, knowing that he could have stayed there in a half-embrace for as long as he'd wanted. But it felt... weird, being hugged like that. Nice, yeah, but way too weird. Besides, he was still hungry. He headed into the kitchen. It was too late to call for pizza tonight, since the pizza parlours had long learned that their delivery boys stood too great a chance of disappearing after eleven.
Giles followed him, going to the fridge and getting something out. "I saved you a plate from dinner. It shouldn't be too bad warmed up in the microwave." He handed Xander a covered plate, looking at him closely again. "One week's grounding," he added, halving the length of the punishment. "I should've made sure you knew you could phone for help. Any time."
Xander just stared at the plate, not really hearing Giles' words. Then he pushed it all aside. This was not something he wanted to think too well about. "So, a week? Then, next Saturday? Willow, Buffy, pizza? Can we rent movies and stay up all night?"
OK, that meant he'd just asked if he could have Buffy and Willow spend the night...
Looking very much like he was holding back a smile, Giles told him, "Barring a crisis of some sort I think that can be arranged. At least that way I'll know where you all are." The last was said gently teasing.
"Cool!"
~~~~~
With a weary, put-upon groan -- entirely faked because moving toward the VCR also got him closer to the second pizza box -- Xander crawled over and hit 'eject'. The movie popped out, and Xander dug for the next with one hand while grabbing another slice of pizza with the other. "Any preferences for the next? Comedy? Romance? Historical documentary?"
From his place in the armchair in the corner, Giles said, "I keep telling you, Dracula is not a historical documentary."
The girls giggled, and Xander rolled his eyes. "We didn't rent Dracula. This time, I mean. It's a night off, who wants to watch movies about vampires?" Xander pulled a tape from the pile and stuck it in the VCR.
"Last time that was all you rented," Willow pointed out in a helpful tone.
"Last time was study night," Xander defended himself. "Tonight is an official party -- Giles said so." He grinned. He hadn't told Willow and Buffy exactly what had lead up to Giles agreeing to tonight's festivities. "Besides, who doesn't love seeing 'Hunger'?" he added breezily, trying to make his thoughts shy away from Spike.
"Depends on what I've done for the last week," Buffy answered from her position curled up in the corner of the couch with a bowl of popcorn.
Willow gave her a slightly confused look. "What have you been doing for the last week? Other than all the usual high school, vampires, homework, and dark mysterious guy not showing?"
"This last week hasn't been too bad," she admitted.
"It's been frighteningly quiet, really," Giles agreed. When the three looked at him with varying degrees of disbelief, he added, "Well, all right, perhaps 'frighteningly' isn't the proper word. Would you prefer 'refreshingly'?"
"As long as they're not quiet because they're plotting something big," Willow muttered.
"Willow!" Xander reached back for the throw pillow he'd been lying on, and threw it. "Don't you remember anything about jinxes?"
"Well, they could be," she replied. "And shouldn't we be ready if they are?"
"That doesn't mean you should encourage them by taunting fate!"
"I doubt," Giles interjected, "that Fate needs any help. On the Hellmouth, I mean -- something big will happen eventually, regardless of what we say about it."
Xander turned his attention to him. "Oh, thanks. I feel better now."
"Ignoring it won't make it go away," Giles admonished, but then smiled faintly. "There is nothing wrong with taking the occasional night off however."
"Wow. We should have a recorder. Anyone have a recorder?" Buffy looked from Willow to Xander, eyes wide with astonishment.
Giles looked around at them, looking slightly offended. "I'm not that bad."
"No, no, of course not. Still, it'd be nice to have a recording for prosperity," Willow said. Xander could see the way she was smiling-not-smiling, looking earnest to those who didn't know her. Laughing freely on the inside to anyone who knew her well. Xander smiled, ignoring the fact that they'd missed the first several minutes of My Man Godfrey. Black and white version, Willow would accept no substitutes.
"I see," Giles said, beginning to get out of his chair. "Perhaps I should leave you to your party before I accidentally suggest homework or something." Xander could tell he was joking. At least he *thought* the man was joking.
"No, don't," Buffy protested immediately. "Don't go; stay. Watch. Eat." She held out the bowl of popcorn to replenish the empty one Giles was holding. "We'll tease Xander instead."
"Yeah," Willow chimed in. "We've a long history of doing that. It would be a shame to break the tradition."
"Excuse me? As the subject of this planned ridicule, I'd like to say something." He paused when Buffy and Willow turned to him, waiting expectantly. "Um, frogs. Oh, look, Will, it's the part where that girl does that thing that you always like." He pointed to the TV screen where William Powell was scaring away pixies.
OK, so there were no girls on the screen at the moment.
"There's no use trying to wriggle out of it," Buffy told him. "Best you can do is take it like a man."
"Why do I have to take it like a man, when he doesn't?" He gestured at Giles who had sat back down and emptied half the bowl of popcorn into his own bowl.
"Because teasing you is more fun," Willow said, winking and throwing some popcorn at his head.
"Oh." He blinked. "Okay." He rolled back onto his stomach, facing the TV. Then he looked down, realizing why it was he was no longer comfortable, and crawled over to Willow to retrieve his pillow.
"Let that be a lesson to you, Xander," Buffy told him as Willow handed the pillow back. "Never use as ammunition something you're going to need later."
He gave her a grin. "This is why you're the Slayer and I'm food."
"Funny, you don't look like a pizza."
"He ought to, given the amount he consumes," came Giles' dry voice. There was an odd note of hesitation, though, which Xander recognized.
Just why, exactly, hadn't he been vampire food last week? He didn't want to think about it, hadn't thought about it all week in fine Sunnydale tradition of Ignore It and It Doesn't Go Away.
Willow caught the fact that he was thinking of unsettling things. "Xander?"
"Yeah?" he replied in his best happy go lucky charms manner.
"Has something happened?"
"Well, I think Godfrey's friend from college is about to show up."
No luck - both Willow and Buffy were looking at him, now. Then Willow looked at Giles. "*Did* something happen?"
"Nothing permanent," Giles answered, glancing sideways at Xander. Then he shut up. Not telling on Xander.
But that didn't deter them. If anything, it made Buffy glare all the harder. "Give. Now. What happened?"
Xander sighed. "It wasn't anything, really. Spike just--"
"Spike?!" Willow yelled.
"Xander got away safely," Giles said soothingly, and to Xander it sounded like there might have been a hint of pride in his voice.
Of course, he didn't know that it had nothing to do with Xander's ability to fight. Spike had let him go because it had amused him to do so. Or something like that. But he said nothing, because Willow was looking at him in that warm, wonderful, impressed way, and he wanted to bask in it all night.
"Did you dust him?" Buffy asked, hopefully.
And Xander shook his head, the bubble of accomplishment shattering with an audible pop. "We... talked." Although, that she assumed he might have was *something*. Right?
"You talked," Buffy repeated slowly. "Like 'Hi, how are you, killed many people lately?' talk?"
Xander shrugged. All three were looking at him with interest; Giles hadn't ever asked for details of that night. Xander wasn't exactly sure what details he could give. "More of a 'Hi, wanna be drained of your blood?' 'No, thanks anyway' followed by a 'Oh, well, all right then'."
"Gee, why haven't I thought of that for getting rid of vampires?" Buffy asked.
"Hey, if you got it, flaunt it, I always say," Xander said easily. The funny thing was, in retrospect the conversation hadn't been nearly as scary as it should have been. Rather, it was scary to think back on, but it hadn't been as terrifying at the time as it should have been.
And it wasn't proving to be all that terrifying to anticipate happening again. Part of him wanted to meet Spike again, just to see if it would happen again. He wasn't about to share that particular thought however; not unless he got a sudden burning desire to be grounded for the rest of his life.
"I'd appreciate a little less of that kind of flaunting," Giles said mildly. "There's enough strain on my nerves as it is."
Shrugging, Xander said, "It isn't like I did it on purpose." He belatedly thought to clamp his jaw shut -- wire it closed, perhaps.
Willow smiled slightly. "You never do it on purpose."
He glared at her, knowing that he ought to object to that -- but not entirely sure which part he objected to more. "Hey, I sometimes do things on purpose. Not vampire taunting, but... things. Brave things."
He felt himself turn bright red when Willow leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "We know you do. Sometimes you're the bravest one here."
"Indeed," Giles agreed easily, which only made him blush the harder.
"Aw, come on, guys, we're missing the movie," he finally said, though it sounded lame enough to his own ears.
"Xander, we have this movie memorized," Willow pointed out.
"I haven't," Buffy put in, coming to his rescue.
"See?" He grinned. But he jumped to his feet, glancing around the room. "Who needs more popcorn?"
~~~~~
He was standing in the kitchen, trying to remember what it was he usually saw in the freezer. It wasn't like he had ever paid attention, not realizing that Giles would actually expect him to know. Expect him to recreate whatever it was.
Expect him to go grocery shopping.
Giles was up to his elbows in research, reading in some arcane language and thus preventing Xander and the others from helping. There was no great save-the-world urgency to it, but it was enough that Giles had asked Xander to take care of the errands for the week in Giles' stead.
Dry cleaners, gas for the car, things like that he could handle. But buying groceries?
A piece of paper was thrust in front of his face from behind. "I find it easier with a list," Giles said with some humor.
Slowly, he grinned. "Thanks." He scanned the list, and found that he actually recognized everything on it. "Um--" He blinked again as Giles handed over some folded bills. "Thanks, again. Hey, can I--"
The car keys were handed over. "Don't do anything stupid."
"Stupid?" Xander gave him a properly shocked look. "Me? With a car?" He realized he was about to talk himself out of the use of the car, and shut his mouth.
Giles chuckled. "I trust you, Xander. Don't disappointment me."
"Oh, man, that's *harsh*." But he kept the keys, gave Giles a triumphant grin, and headed out before Giles could think of another errand. Admittedly, driving Giles' car was only one step above walking, but it *was* a car.
He got into the car, adjusted the seat and the mirrors, another moment to find a good radio station and he pulled out and off to the grocery store. When he arrived, he found the parking lot not quite packed. He zipped into a clear spot near the end of one row, and considered that there must be some people in Sunnydale who *weren't* here now.
Maybe five. Or possibly seven.
Briefly he wished for some kind of supernatural attack to thin out the crowd before deciding that that would be too much trouble than it was worth. With a sigh, he got out of the car and trudged toward the store's doors. Besides, if something attacked he'd probably be obligated to fight it. He'd almost rather fight the crowds.
He stepped inside, and reconsidered. A monster could be slayed, at least.
No wonder Giles had volunteered him for this chore. It was payback for every time he'd called him 'G-man'. Or Mr. Tweedy. Or teased him about his books. Or his tea.
Or... now that he thought about it, maybe he was getting off easy. Taking the list out, he got a cart and started tracking down what he was supposed to get. Great white hunter stalking the dangerous and elusive tea biscuit mix...
It didn't take long to discover that the store was in an entirely different order than the list. Fortunately, a little more recon determined that he'd merely gone in the wrong door -- going to the other end of the store and the list was suddenly in exactly the same order as the store's aisles. OK, perhaps he could have simply started at the bottom of the list. Either way, now he was set to shop.
Xander pushed the cart along, studying the shelves for a brand he recognized as Giles-approved.
"Xander."
And froze. A voice he knew, a tone he knew even better. He felt himself pushing -- shoving, really -- his head around to look. To smile as if it were easy. "Mom. What are you doing here?" It wasn't a stupid question, not really, though he knew what would be: a can of coffee and cigarettes. Beer. She also had a box of something which looked like cake. Typical.
"I see he's got you doing his chores for him," she all but sneered. "Was it worth breaking up our family for?"
"And what a lovely surprise this is," Xander said, not even blinking. She did this, too. When crying didn't work, she went for the jugular. "I can see you've taken up cooking."
Again she totally ignored what he was saying. "Did you have to do this, Xander? Perhaps your father was a little harsh at times, but if you wouldn't get him angry-"
"I've heard this before, you know." He had no idea how or why he was being so... angry, right back at her. When was the last time he'd spoken back to her?
Of course, he was also thinking that leaving right now was a good thing, too.
"You could still come back, let us be a family again. I've kept your room just as you left it."
"Oh, and you're making it sound *so* attractive." He discovered he'd taken a step backward, and decided to go with that thought. Another step back, leaving the fucking cart right there and just get the hell out before...
Like quicksilver her demeanor changed again, going from coaxing to angry. "Don't you walk away from me when I'm talking, boy!" Her voice was shrill, her face a grimace of rage. All around them people began to turn and stare.
And he laughed. Once, loud, sharp and heaving. An old, eerie, familiar laugh. He laughed again and turned, walked out of the store.
He made it to Giles' car before he felt the first shake. Clamping down on it, he jerked the door open a little too hard, slammed it shut a little too loud. Put the car in gear and only just slammed on the brakes when he realized he hadn't looked first.
Miraculously there had been nothing coming and he shakily pulled out into traffic, his mother's voice still ringing in his ears. He drove without direction for about a block. Then he turned, jerking the wheel and speeding with blatant disregard of everything.
Giles would take the keys away from him for life.
He drove to the school, and let himself into the library with the key Giles had given him; he'd given them each one. There, he went directly to Buffy's stash, the training gear, and stared. Something had to be here. There had to be *something*. He grabbed a wooden sword and screamed, swinging it in an arc towards the wall.
The entire top end of the sword went flying off in the opposite direction.
"Whoa. Guess you showed that wall."
He jumped, spinning to find Buffy standing there. "Oh. Um." He looked down at the half-sword he still held. "Sorry, I'll get you a new stick." Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should just go tear the snack machine into a thousand pieces. Blame it on the football team.
"Don't worry about it. I go through them pretty regularly. It's no big deal." She moved closer. "Saw you driving up here like a bat out of hell and followed. Thought there might be an evil occurring."
"No evil."
She looked at him, closely. "I take it something's happened?"
"No. Nothing's happened. I guess this one's toast," he said, considering the sword he still held. With one swift motion, he slammed it into the wall again. Quarter stick, now.
"Pretty much, yeah."
Xander looked at the sword, then grinned and held it out to Buffy. "Here, it's a stake." He wondered where else he could go. Gym? Track? Home under the bed?
"Thanks." She looked at him consideringly. "I could use someone to spar with. If you don't have anything else to do...?"
"Yeah! That'd be, I mean, we could do -- um, you're gonna pull your punches, right?" He gave her a doubtful look which vanished as she returned it with a 'duh' one of her own. "Sorry, I'm not thinking. Yeah, let's spar. Um..." He had followed her out into the open area of the library, then stopped. He had no idea what Slayer sparring involved.
All he really wanted to do was hit something that he couldn't hurt.
Buffy went over to the large box where she and Giles kept her workout materials and pulled out what looked like two oversized blue mitts.
"What are those?"
"Padding." She slid them on her hands and turned to face him holding her arms up. "Think of them as a sort of portable punching bag. Go ahead. Take a swing."
"Um?" He found himself taking a half-step back, instead. Then he stopped. "You mean it?"
She nodded. "You look like you need to blow off some steam. Go ahead."
He shrugged; he knew he wouldn't hurt her. Heck, he probably wouldn't even knock her back. He raised his hand, making a nice, easy fist, and let fly, right into the center of the mitt. The smack of fist against canvas and padding echoed in his ears.
He smiled. Buffy smiled back and braced herself. Xander hit the mitt again, then settled himself into a balanced stance, where he could alternate strikes with each fist. One, two, pausing in between long enough to take a breath and make sure he remained calm. He struck the mitts, over again.
What the hell had she been thinking?
*Smack*
She knew why he couldn't go back.
*Slam*
She wanted him back because with him gone, there was no one but her. No one but the two of them alone, to go at each other's throats.
*Pow*
Breaking up the family. As if it had been him.
*Smack*
'If only you didn't make him angry...'
*Slam!*
He realized he was screaming. He found he didn't really care.
Not until he also realized his throat hurt like hell. He checked his next swing and tried to breathe deep... and looked up at Buffy, at eyes wide in disbelief.
"Well, the steam is well and truly blown off." She lowered her arms, striving for an almost achieving a nonchalant air. "Feel any better?"
He gasped, beginning to feel as if he'd... pounded the hell out of punching mitts. "I... think so..." He contented himself to stand there for a moment, panting. He didn't feel better, not exactly, but he felt a lot more relaxed about not feeling better.
"Whatever didn't happen must've been pretty major."
"Yeah." He was beginning to breathe easier, though his throat was still rough. "Oh, hell, I still have to buy groceries."
He wondered if Giles was keeping an eye on the clock, or if he'd expect Xander to succumb to the lure of having a car and spend most of the day tooling around, doing nothing. Then again, it was daylight, and there wasn't likely to be a repeat of the last time he came home later than expected.
Buffy cocked her head to the side, studying him. "Want some company?"
That made him grin. "I'd love company. Do you know anything about shopping for groceries?"
"Not a thing. But how different can it be from shopping for clothes?"
"I don't *even* wanna go there." He slapped his shirt pocket and found he'd managed to hang onto the list, through all this. "But I am prepared."
"Great. This should be a breeze then. Shall we?"
"We shall."
~~~~~
Breeze, it was not. By the time they made it to Giles' car with the bags, Xander had sworn never to go shopping again without the Slayer. Not that she *used* her strength against mere mortals. But just knowing she was there to guide the cart...
Once they'd slammed the trunk down on what Xander hoped was at least a month's worth of groceries, Buffy gave him a smile. "Well, that's done. Don't suppose you could drop me off at home before you have to get the Gilesmobile back?"
"Your wish is my command. And I mean that," he added as he headed for the driver's door.
"I'll try not to abuse the power."
"Oh, feel free to abuse me--" He coughed, and forced a grin.
Buffy, thankfully, kept it light. "Only in play." She looked at him speculatively for a moment. "Actually, if you're willing I could use someone to spar with in a regular basis. Giles is good, but he's, you know... it makes his arms hurt. Once he can feel them again."
"Yeah? Hey, I'm your man. I, um, know a little about hand-to-hand. I'll even try not to hurt you." Buffy returned his grin with an only slightly exasperated one of her own.
Xander discovered that he finally felt better. He dropped her off at home with a cheery wave and his best British-accented "There you are, fare's ten pounds, please' which got him a laugh, but no tip. Then he headed home himself, and hoped they'd gotten everything right.
~~~~~
Giles was in the living room, five books opened around him on the couch, blatantly neck deep in his research when he came in. Regardless, Giles set the book on his lap aside, getting up and coming to help. Xander handed three bags off to him, then ran down for the rest. When he got back to the kitchen, he surveyed the pile. It had seemed like less at the store.
He moved over to the cabinet, though, and began putting the canned goods away. It was interesting to note that almost nothing he and Buffy had gotten were things -- items or brands -- that his mother had ever had in her kitchen. He found it interesting to note that he noted.
"You made out okay?" Giles asked, putting the frozen goods in the freezer.
"Yeah, didn't we? I mean, did we miss anything?"
"Not that I can see." He paused. "We?"
"Oh. Yeah, I... uh, ran into Buffy. We sparred for a bit and then she went to the store with me." He found himself biting his tongue over the 'is that OK?'
"You sparred with Buffy?" Giles looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
"Oh, not exactly. Not this time -- we're gonna, though. Practice, I mean. Not full strength but, you know, the moves and things. I," Xander ducked his head as he folded one of the bags and put it away. "I remember that stuff, so I figured it'd give her a chance to beat up on somebody young enough to recover by lunchtime."
That earned him an inquisitive look. "Remember? Ah, from the Hallowe'en fiasco."
Xander shrugged again. In many ways it had been a fiasco, he'd be the first to admit. Though seeing Willow in that skirt had been nice, once he'd come back to his senses and thought back on it. "Yeah, so, we decided we'd spar together sometimes." It occurred to him that he might be encroaching on Giles' territory. Giles was in charge of Buffy's training, after all. He snuck a glance up. "That's all right?"
"Oh it's fine." He reached over and clasped Xander's shoulder. "Give this old body a chance to not have to strain to recover by lunchtime."
Xander grinned, and returned to the next bag of groceries. "Do you really cook this stuff?" He held up a handful of something Buffy swore was probably what Giles had meant by Chinese radishes.
"You've eaten them."
"I *what*?" Xander dropped them on the cabinet like he'd been told they were the next demon spawn to rise against Sunnydale.
Giles smiled faintly. "The stirfry last Thursday."
With another glance down at the offending whatever it was, Xander shook his head. "The one I said was good?"
"The one you had four helpings of."
"Yeah, well, I have four helpings of Willow's mom's meatloaf, too." Xander stopped as he realized the unintended effect of what he'd just said. "But the stirfry, I liked."
"We can have it tonight if you'd like." There was a pleased glint in Giles' eyes at the fumbled compliment.
Xander found himself smiling. It wasn't often that he made anyone look at him like... like that. Self-consciously, he turned his attention back to the groceries, only to find they were all put away. He went back to the cabinet stocked with all manner of junk food and took out a package of Twinkies.
Which was promptly taken out of his hands. "No snacking before dinner. In fact-" A knife was placed in his hand, along with the bag of Chinese radishes, "-you can help get it ready."
"No snacks before dinner?" Xander raised his eyebrows. "What planet are you from?" He glanced at the knife, and added, "I don't know how to cook, not unless it's in the woods over a fire."
"Then it is time you learn. A man cannot live by pizza alone."
"Man needs twinkies and cola, too." He caught Giles' look, and added, "And Chinese radishes?"
"And Chinese radishes," Giles agreed. "We'll move up to carrots and cauliflower when you're ready."
"I thought cauliflower was a type of demon."
"Cooking and demonology have much in common." Giles gathered the rest of the ingredients, and then moved to prepare a pot of basmati rice. Xander had no idea what made it basmati, but Giles' list had been very clear on the subject. Not brown, not wild, and certainly not that horrid white. Basmati, or Jasmine.
It looked white to him. But he shook his head. "I do *not* want to know. I don't." Xander start slicing the radishes as Giles instructed, getting halfway through the first before he conceded, "OK, I do."
The older man was setting mushrooms and peppers ready at the counter beside him as he explained, "Both require the right ingredients, both require you follow a recipe, improvisation in both can either make things better or lead to total catastrophe."
Xander stopped and looked over at him. "And they both involve Chinese radishes?"
Giles stopped and looked over at him. "If I answer that, you might not eat them anymore."
"Oh." Xander looked at the radishes with as forlorn an expression as he could manage while trying not to giggle. Then he paused. "How does demonology involve things that sound like chem class? I thought it was all about where they come from and what are their weak spots?"
"Admittedly, that does seem to be the aspect we end up focusing on the most, but it is just a small part of the whole."
"There's more?" Xander dumped the chopped radishes on the plate as indicated, then grabbed the peppers and began slicing them, as well.
"Oh, much more. Demonic chemistry, for example."
"That isn't demons doing chemistry, is it?" Xander found himself intrigued. He'd never thought much about the supernatural world beyond is it going to hurt me and how do I kill it.
Giles chuckled. "No. It's the study of the chemical makeup of demons and what affects it, and what effects it can have on other things."
Xander blinked. "They *do* that? Is there demonic math, too? Besides algebra? Or demonic earth science? Demonic philosophy? OK, don't answer that last one, that would be *way* too weird for me to handle."
"There are other disciplines." The older man glanced sideways at him for a moment assessingly. "I have some beginning texts if you're interested."
"Yeah?" Xander realized he was about to voluntarily read something *scholastic*. He gave Giles a look. "Just don't tell Willow, OK? If she finds me studying on my own, she'll stop tutoring me."
"Mum is the word."
Turning his attention back to the cutting board, Xander continued, only realizing he was babbling after he'd said, "If she stops tutoring me I won't be able to copy any of her answers and *then* I'll be--" When he stopped and looked up, he found Giles watching him. "Um, can this be one of those 'haha, made a funny joke' moments?"
Giles just looked at him.
"Ha, ha?" Xander tried again. It occurred to him that he was only convincing Giles he hadn't been joking, and tried, "Come on, you know Willow - would she let me copy from her?"
"Not without making sure you understood it," Giles finally allowed.
"See? So it isn't like cheating, really. It's just creative learning." Xander told himself again to shut up before he got himself back into trouble.
"Perhaps you should try to be a little less creative in your learning methods."
Xander bit his tongue. His luck, come Monday afternoon Willow would have had a short chat with Giles, and would be giving Xander those big, sad, Willow-eyes. And apologizing.
Or threatening to steal the twinkies out of his locker for the remainder of the semester.
~~~~~
Xander set the book down he'd been reading, 'Neophyte's Guide to Chemistry'. The first book Giles had shown him on the subject of demonic chemistry he'd read through a couple weeks ago. Now he was halfway through this one, and amusing Giles considerably with his interest and reading speed. He'd blown it, of course, convincing Giles that he should be able to read history texts with equal ease.
But for now, Giles had grabbed his attention with one of the magic words. "Take the car and go where?"
"The library at the school, if you would. I left a couple of books there that I'm going to need sooner than I thought." He looked up from the volumes he was currently going through.
"Sure. You need 'em tonight?" Xander knew there hadn't been any recent portents of doom, death, or detention, so he knew this wasn't an urgent quest. Giles could probably have gone, himself... except apparently he knew how much Xander liked having an excuse to take the car. Even a car like the Citroen.
"Yes, if you don't mind. I can't go much further without them."
"Sure!" Xander bounced up and took the keys Giles was holding out absently, already gone back to reading.
He knew he was probably being extra eager about the whole run-errands-for-you thing, and he did do a nice job of squelching the sound of his mother's voice when he thought that particular phrase, but tomorrow was his birthday and he didn't want to risk anyone deciding he didn't deserve three pints of ice cream, instead of two.
Giles had given him a look of disbelief when Xander had brought home four cartons of ice cream last weekend, and had merely smiled with a tolerant air when Xander had sworn three of them were for his birthday.
As Xander was heading for the door, Giles added, "If you want, you can stop and pick up a cake for tomorrow, as well. If you think you're going to have room for cake with all that ice cream."
Xander glanced over his shoulder. "Cake, ice cream, pizza, and chocolate. Just watch me!"
He heard Giles mutter half under his breath about the supernatural appetites of teenagers as he was heading out the door. Xander laughed as he headed down the stairs. Listening to Giles grumble and mutter was... god, it was wonderful. Like whenever Willow said that she liked her mother's best friend's house because it was homey, like visiting an aunt. Xander had never gotten the 'homey' thing until now.
Now, did he ever. Homey. Giles was homey.
Xander laughed again, at himself and with some relief that there was no one around to have said that aloud to. He'd been doing that a lot lately, laughing for the smallest of reasons. It was like it had finally sunk in that this was all real and he was having a delayed giddiness in reaction. Idly, he wondered if that would constitute a new kind of syndrome, a sort of flipside to post-traumatic stress disorder, and concluded he'd been listening far too much to Willow discussing the psychology books she'd been reading.
Or perhaps he was just happy, and he had little experience in handling sustained happiness. In being sustainedly happy. Xander flicked on the radio and sang along with whatever came along, so he could stop making up words.
He finally pulled into the school's parking lot, taking blatant advantage of Giles' parking spot, turning off the engine and stepping out into the early night.
"Oh, you *can't* be serious. You drive this?"
Xander spun around, heart speeding in startlement, doing a stutterstep and going even faster when he saw who it was. "You."
"Me?" The vampire looked down at himself, inspected his torso and hands, then gave Xander a start of surprise. "It *is*. I'll say, I'm glad you're here to point out these things." Spike was standing partway in a pool of orange light from one of the lot's streetlights. It gave his pale skin an eerie, bizarre tinge.
Like he didn't look eerie enough already.
Xander leaned back against the car, trying to look at ease, while he ran through all the possible escape routes if he had to run for it. "What do you want Spike?"
"What do I want?" Spike appeared to think it over, for a second. "How about world domination? Nah, too much responsibility. To see Angel hung by his toes? Definitely." He took a step forward, and gave Xander a measuring look. "Or," he continued forward another step and Xander wondered if he could get to the library's stash of weapons in time. "The Dead Puppies' first album?"
"Why doesn't it surprise me you follow a band named that?" He answered without thinking, which he couldn't figure out if it was a bad or good thing. Guess he would find out when Spike either ate him or let him go. Again.
"What, you've never heard the Dead Puppies? Oh, mate, you're missing out. Remind me to get you a CD of theirs." Spike's gaze flickered at him, for a second looking him squarely on, before his stance relaxed again and his gaze, though never wandering, seemed to let Xander go again. "For your birthday or something."
The sudden picture of Spike showing up at home the next day wearing a party hat and carrying a brightly wrapped present made him suppress sudden hysterical laughter.
Possibly he wasn't suppressing too well, because Spike was giving him that startled look that faded quickly into a grin. His voice was smooth, though, entirely too smooth when he said, "I like cake, you know. Party favours..." Xander was suddenly reminded that he was chatting with a vampire. Evil, souless, killer.
He resisted the urge to gulp and instead shrugged as nonchalantly as he could. "Sorry, all booked up. You'll have to find your favours somewhere else."
Spike pouted, and though his face was still human Xander could see the vampire's visage glittering underneath the surface. "You don't have an extra favour for me?"
"Not on me, no." What did a vampire consider a party favour anyway? And did he really want to know?
"Oh, well," Spike said with a sigh. "Maybe next time. Unless you want to grab a quick snack instead?"
He shook his head, hoping his knees weren't shaking as much as they felt they were. "Sorry, wouldn't want to ruin my dinner."
"Won't ruin mine." Spike grinned easily.
When Spike stepped forward again, Xander stopped. Well, not that he'd been going anywhere backed up against the car, but he stopped trying to press himself into the car's frame. He narrowed his eyes at Spike. OK, yeah, he might get eaten. However, he wasn't going to just bare his neck and let him.
With a startled blink, Spike stopped. He titled his head, and said, "You know, you smell different."
Xander flashed back to when he'd been possessed by his inner hyena and how he had been able to smell emotions on people. Especially fear.
Or lack of it.
"Maybe I am different."
He didn't even flinch when Spike took the last two steps, and was near enough to-- he leant forward and sniffed Xander's neck. It was weird enough that it startled a heartfelt, "What the fuck are you doing?" out of him, and he shoved against the vampire's chest, knocking him back.
Spike laughed. It was an odd sound, sharp and delighted.
It made Xander feel... something. Something he didn't want to look at too closely. That in turn made him angry. He stepped forward and shoved Spike back again.
Spike stumbled, though he caught his balance a half-second later. He glared at Xander and opened his mouth to say something. Xander didn't want to hear it.
"Stop doing that."
"Doing what?" Spike looked honestly perplexed. It still looked ridiculous on him.
"Sniffing my neck!"
There was an instant's pause, then Spike said cheerfully, "But I like the way you smell, luv."
Xander groaned, silently. Could his life get any weirder?
~~~~~
He managed to drive all the way home -- with Giles' books sitting safely on the front seat -- without getting any closer to figuring out what exactly was happening. Again Spike had just grinned and shaken his head and... walked off. Xander had watched him go, half-convinced it was a trap and twenty vamps were going to leap out at him as soon as Spike crossed the large pool of light and into the darkness beyond.
But they hadn't, and Xander had run into the library and grabbed the books and a stake and a cross and holy water, and made it all the way back home without having a single freakin' clue.
Maybe Spike was just insane.
Xander left everything except the books in the car, and headed up to the apartment. He opened the door -- then jumped a foot in the air at the loud shouts of "Surprise!" He dropped the books, hoped that they weren't old, rare, and irreplaceable. From the satisfied grin on Giles' face, he guessed not.
Then he *saw* the room, and after a moment of heart-stopping amazement, he grinned back. Ear to ear, and he knew he couldn't have stopped even if vampires attacked. There were streamers and balloons hung up all over and a large banner opposite the door that said "Happy Birthday".
Everyone was smiling at him.
He laughed. He could feel the giddy half-a-step-away-from-losing-control sensation, and he didn't try to reign it in. He did shut his mouth, though, before he could startle his friends with hysteria. He ducked his head as Willow came forward with a paper hat -- she and Buffy were wearing them, Giles and Cordelia were rather pointedly not.
Xander didn't mind -- was pleasantly surprised to see Cordelia, as for the last couple months she'd been hanging around more and more, alternating quite well between hating him and tolerating him. But here she was, returning his grin with a smile of her own. Maybe she was just here for the -- "Oh, damn! I forgot to get a cake."
"No biggie," Buffy said. "Willow and I picked one up on the way over." She gestured towards the dining room table that was piled high with food. A large cake was sitting in a place of honor.
"Darn, we coulda had two..." Xander laughed again at Giles' expression, and turned his attention to the only thing better -- as good as -- chocolate cake.
Presents.
He suspected he must have been doing the puppy-dog eyes thing, because Giles said in a rather amused tone, "So, um, would you like to start with the presents?"
"Isn't that the tradition?" Willow grinned and handed him a familiarly-shaped giftwrapped cylinder.
Xander gave Willow a grin. Well, the same grin. He figured he was going to wear out his smiling muscles in one evening if this kept on. He accepted the package happily and went over to the table where the rest of the packages were waiting. Slipping the ribbon off, he quickly unwrapped his first, expected, gift.
Unrolling it, he revealed a vintage movie poster, one that would have actually cost quite a bit if it were authentic. Willow was smiling at him. "I thought it was appropriate this year," she said with a shrug. "No place like home and all that."
His grin softened into a much less manic, much more touched smile. "Thanks, Will."
He set it carefully aside, then, and considered his next choice. Big? Small? His eye caught a very small package with Giles' name on the from line. Xander grabbed it, wanting to know what Giles could be giving him that was *that* small.
Heck, he wanted to know what Giles was giving him, regardless of size. He tore off the paper and-- "Tell me these are to a 1969 Mustang?"
"Sorry," the librarian replied, not sounding sorry at all.
But Xander didn't mind. He knew what they were -- keys to the Citroen. "Very cool. Thanks, G-man."
"Here, you should open mine now," Cordelia announced. "It goes with his."
Xander followed her finger, finally spotting another small gift. The card did indeed say 'From Cordelia'. "Isn't this the first time you've given me a birthday present since we were four?"
She blinked at him. "I gave you something when we were four?"
Of course she wouldn't remember. He did. He'd kept all his gifts from that year under his bed, with the tags still next to them. It had been his first actual party, one he'd shamelessly begged for and blackmailed his mother into letting him have, by merely telling all the kids at he was having one. Parties tended to come with a price, though, and after his 6th party fiasco, birthdays had been a Willow and Jesse and grandma kinda celebration, until grandma had died and it had been Willow and Jesse, giving him presents and cake at lunchtime, at school.
"You probably don't want to see the photos, then," he teased her, banishing those thoughts as he unwrapped the gift. A keychain. He grinned. "How appropriate. Thank you, Cordelia."
"Didn't break the budget there, did you?" Buffy asked Cordelia.
She shrugged. "Hey, it's a gift. Something I haven't done in 13 years, apparently. I thought it was in 'never'."
"So which one next?" Xander interrupted, not wanting to explain to Buffy that Cordelia was right - a gift at all was cool enough. There was one whose card had a signature he couldn't quite read -- though the curl of the 'B' made it obvious. He snatched it up and gave Buffy a look. "Hmm... what could it be?"
She smiled. "Maybe you should open it and find out."
From the size, shape and feel of the present he figured he knew what it was. He didn't mind the lack of surprise -- he wouldn't know which albums she'd gotten him until he tore off the paper, anyhow. Xander did so, and grinned -- still, still -- as he rifled through the stack. Three CDs of music he could play loud, to make Giles say disparaging things about 'noise' and real music. "Cool! Thanks, Buffy!" He used the chance to hug her, and laughed when she didn't pretend she didn't know he was taking advantage.
There was another CD shaped package on the table and he picked it up. There was no card, and the wrapping was plain dark red paper. Intrigued, Xander tore the paper.
And stared. Dead Puppies.
He heard Giles' soft voice coming from right beside him, then he was taking the CD out of Xander's hand. "I... I wasn't sure if, when there was no tag, I didn't know..."
Xander looked up, and wondered if he were pale or something. Giles looked extremely concerned, contrite.
"I wasn't sure if I should put it out with the others. I'm sorry."
Giles set the CD aside, and Xander watched him. Confused. Scared as hell. Giles' next words confused him more.
"I... assumed it might be from them, but didn't know if you'd rather not see it, or--"
"Giles?" Xander was surprised to hear his voice sounding so steady. "It's OK. I'm OK." He suddenly understood what Giles thought, and wasn't going to correct him. A gift from his parents, safely anonymous but there all the same, as though a peace offering, or a pitiful attempt to show they still cared.
They didn't, but Xander was not about to explain who it was from. Let his friends think that, then, and hope Spike's sense of humour left things at this.
"Here." Buffy held out another present. "This one's better."
It took him a moment to realise what she was saying, then he held out his hand and took the box. Slightly larger, though light; he unwrapped it more slowly. And was even more confused when he saw what it was.
"Thanks, but - I don't have a computer." He looked back down at the game, verifying that yes, in fact, it was a computer game. Tomb Raider, which he'd been hearing so much about. This was supposed to be better?
Then he realised everyone was looking at him, exptectantly.
"Don't I?"
All it took was for Giles to raise his hand, starting to point towards Xander's bedroom. Xander took off, practically running to his room. Stopped when he saw it on his desk.
"Who-hoo!" The game was tossed to the bed, and he sat down in front of the computer. *His* computer. He turned it on as he began checking out all the peripherals.
"I helped picked it out," Willow was saying proudly. Xander looked up, found all of them standing there. Buffy looked bemused, Cordelia was simply looking. Giles was watching with a faint smile of amusement, and a large hint of pride. "I've had it in my room for the last two weeks," Willow continued. "You have no idea how often I've wanted to hook it up and check it out. Oh, just to make sure everything was working," she added.
Xander laughed. "If you're nice to me, maybe I'll let you play Tomb Raider."
"I'd rather play Myst." She stopped, and suddenly looked guilty.
Xander remembered there was another game-shaped box on the table. Knowing Willow as well as he did, that almost guaranteed that it was...
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spoil." Willow pouted, though there was still that look in her eyes that said she was too pleased to be truly sorry.
"It's OK. It's fine." Xander jumped up, and hugged her. "Thank you."
After a few more minutes checking the computer out, Xander and the others headed back to the living room and dug into the food. There was a lot of eating, talking, joking, all in all the best birthday he'd had in a long time.
It seemed entirely too early when it was late enough to go. Buffy was the first to mention it, apologizing for her need to go on patrol before it got too late to get home. With that, Cordelia took her leave as well. Willow tried to offer to stay and help clean up -- stay and let the celebration go on just a little longer -- but Buffy was her escort home.
After they'd left, Xander wordlessly moved to help Giles with the clean up. The older man shot him an approving smile as they made quick work of most of the mess.
Xander couldn't decide which of his presents he wanted to play with first. Maybe he could swing all of them... put a CD in, crank up the 'puter and play Tomb Raider. Or Myst, just so he could have a headstart on Willow before she began trouncing him into the dirt. Put up her poster... huh, ok, he couldn't play with his keys and keychain until he actually had a reason to use the car.
He grabbed a fingerful of icing as he carried the remainder of the cake to the kitchen. It had been a practically perfect birthday.
When he went back to the living room, Giles was coming from the direction of his bedroom with a large gift wrapped box in his hands. Xander stopped. Blinked a couple times. 'You shouldn't have' warred with 'one more! one more!' and he was left just staring, as Giles brought the present over.
The librarian hesitated before handing it over. "Considering some of the reading you've been doing lately, I thought you might appreciate this."
Xander didn't try hiding his eager grin. Taking the package, he quickly removed the paper. Inside was a book -- a textbook. A practical guide to demonic chemistry.
To go along with the chemistry set...
Xander stared up at Giles, knowing his eyes were wide and he must look ridiculously excited.
"Judging from that expression, I take it I judged correctly," Giles said with a faint smile.
"Yeah," Xander breathed, setting the kit down and opening the book, only to look over to check the 'this set includes' list on the box.
He had moved to the couch and was going through the table of contents and verifying just how many of the lessons he could get through with the set, when he realised Giles had completed the last of the clean-up and was standing in the hallway, watching him. Nervously, Xander realised he hadn't said anything yet. "Hey, Giles, thanks. This is cool. Way cool -- beyond cool."
"I gathered," Giles replied as he walked over and sat down beside him.
Xander grinned, ducked his head. There was something about the way Giles looked at him... it made his stomach feel tight and his skin warm, like if he were the blushing sort, he'd be blushing. He focused on the book again, but didn't open it again, knowing he'd only start reading and lose whatever Giles said next.
Beside him he saw Giles focusing on the book's cover as well. "This set is quite complete, but if you have any questions or find you need something that's not included, just ask."
"Thanks. I will. Um -- do I even want to know where you got this?"
"Probably not. Let's just say I am not without connections and leave it at that."
Xander laughed. "You probably got it from the grocer on third street -- the one who sells Chinese radishes in a bin on the sidewalk." The laughter left him, though, and he felt suddenly tired. He was about to excuse himself to his room -- to play with even more of his presents -- when he caught sight of the CD Spike had given him.
He started slightly when Giles laid a hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"
"Sure! Why wouldn't I be?" It sounded too loud, too cheery. He doubted Giles would be fooled, even if he didn't already probably know. He wondered what Giles would do, if he told him whom the CD was really from. Not let him go out alone at night, for one thing.
"I know birthdays haven't exactly been the best of days for you..."
The climbing of his eyebrows asked the question. Unless he only guessed, unless he meant the day their nightmares came to life, and they'd learned about that stupid clown.
Or - unless Willow.
"Willow and I talked while she was helping me pick out your computer," Giles said confirming that last suspicion.
"Ah." He found that looking at the floor was easier. He wasn't mad -- and certainly not at Willow -- but he was... embarrassed? Ashamed? He shrugged. "It really wasn't--"
"Fair," Giles interrupted. "No, it wasn't."
That hadn't been what he was going to say. He knew it, he knew Giles knew it. Was he going to let Giles get away with it? It occurred to him that the alternative was covering for his folks.
"I know your past with your parents isn't an easy subject for you to talk about." Giles'tone was serious. "But when you do need to, I'm here to listen, Xander."
He kept staring at the floor. He knew he could -- it wasn't that much harder than talking to Willow. Although they had always talked late at night, over the phone where Xander couldn't see her face. Those nightly calls which they claimed was just to catch up on the day -- Xander knew Willow only wanted to know that he was safe for one more night.
But it was still hard to say, because the words... the feelings sounded stupid and petty.
"I'm not going to judge *you*," Giles continued, the emphasis on the last word making it plain that he was making no such promise about Xander's parents.
Xander shook his head, sharply. "It's just a birthday, Giles. It doesn't mean anything."
"Doesn't mean anything? It's a celebration of one year of growth, one year of survival. And that is something that definitely holds meaning."
In a whisper, he said, "Yeah, well, they didn't really want me to survive, you know?"
Giles' hand was back on his shoulder. "All the more reason to celebrate your doing so. You have a great many people who are thankful that you have survived."
He shivered, wanting to lean into the touch. Lean into the embrace he knew was his for asking. But that would admit that it mattered, wouldn't it? That knowing that the only ones who cared for most of his life were three people in the entire world, two of whom were dead...
He found himself being held, somehow without asking, and he was crying, harder than he'd thought possible. Through it all Giles held him tightly, murmuring words too soft to make out, but that were reassuring nonetheless.
When he kept crying, unable to stop himself, Giles turned him, pulling him half into Giles' lap so he was facing the back of the couch, legs curled up on the cushions. It was the most comfortable embrace he'd ever felt.
If he ignored the way his chest, throat, and head hurt, and the way he just couldn't stop. He pressed his head against Giles' shoulder, trying to push it all back inside. He felt Giles' hands gently stroking his back, one of them moving up to cup his head. "Let it out," Giles murmured. "You've held it in far too long already."
"I can't," he managed, trying to push the words out and bring everything else back in. It hurt, hurt far worse to let it out than just make it go away. "I can't..."
He realised that Giles was rocking him, slowly, back and forth. It felt... it felt wonderful, aching, and he focused on it. Wanted to draw that feeling in and hang onto it forever.
And realised the tears were slowing down.
The rocking gradually slowed in concert with the tears, but Giles made no move to release him, to pull away. Xander closed his eyes, needing to steal a minute to pull everything back together before he could risk looking up, saying anything. Letting go. He dragged in a breath, deep as he could manage, and discovered he'd been wrong.
It didn't hurt more to let it go. He yawned, and told himself one more moment to rest there, then he'd let Giles go. He closed his eyes, only to find himself blinking in early morning sunlight in what felt like a minute later.
He was still on the couch, still in Giles' embrace, must've fallen asleep there the night before. And instead of waking him and telling him to go to bed or at least slipping away and leaving him asleep on the couch, Giles had stayed where he was and had even managed to fall asleep while not relinquishing his hold on Xander.
Xander swallowed, not moving, knowing he was totally out of his depth. Vampires he could deal with -- except for Spike. Demons, math tests, even fresh vegetables begging for a little hot oil.
This... this was too perfect to be any good at all.
Giles kept surprising him, throwing him off balance. It was one thing to provide sanctuary and even ensure protection for Xander. Quite another to be treated like this. Like someone important.
Like someone who mattered. Like someone he lo- Xander closed his eyes, instead, and decided to let Giles be the one to get up first, say all the 'sorry, didn't mean to's and 'are you all right's.
It wasn't too long before he felt Giles stir slightly and he slitted his eyes enough to watch Giles' flutter open. He kept himself relaxed, long used to faking sleep, and waited for Giles to disentangle himself.
But he didn't. He just sat there.
Holding him.
Xander opened his eyes again, bewildered.
Giles smiled down at him. "Good morning."
"M...morning." Xander pushed himself up, and Giles let him go, without comment. Xander stood there a moment, wondering what he was expected to say.
"The usual for breakfast?" Giles asked, standing up and stretching with a nearly inaudible groan.
"Ye-yeah," Xander managed. He decided to delay the moment of confrontation, and slipped off to use the bathroom. When he returned, the tea kettle was on and Giles was getting things out to make waffles.
Giles looked up and nodded towards the orange juice that was already poured and ready. "You want to drive on the way to school today?"
Xander grinned. Maybe he would get to play with all his new toys today.
~~~~
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